The Girl by the River
by SirBrian
Summary: The only cure for the man who died at sea is the sea itself. NorringtonOC
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

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><p>James Norrington woke, as if he had been in a deep sleep.<p>

No. Not asleep. Dead. He should have been dead. His immediate question was his surroundings. There was a strong smell of a fragrance which he could not quite place in his current lacklustre state. A warming waft of hot food drifted through his senses, along with the smell of the burning wood it was undoubtedly being cooked on. It seeped into his bones; the very pits of his being. He would be grateful of something to eat right now, if he had not felt as numb and weary as he did.

A dull, throbbing pain was beating in his abdomen, with a steady doldrums pace. Maybe this was life on the other side; that unknown world beyond that of the living. Those beautiful smells could be another temptation – in the same way which Beckett had coaxed him back into serving the East India Trading Company – to lead him away from his once honourable nature. For he _had_ been honourable. He knew what was right and wrong. But all that had paled in comparison to the prospect of reclaiming his station.

What if he was in Hell? Lord knows he deserved it for his unforgivable sins. _Nothing could absolve me for my past sins. _Not even his final act, as an Admiral of the British Navy, could save his soul. All for _her_. He sacrificed himself, just for her.

_The wound_.

James threw his hand down to his stomach, ripped open the front of his shirt. His mind entertained the question of where the rest of his uniform was for only half a second. He could think about that in greater depth later.

He searched for a wound, anything, to show where Bill Turner had speared him through, anything to prove it had all been real. His fingers traced a jagged and tender scar just below his sternum. It may have been sore, but it was sealed up. He tried to check for the same mark on his back. He could not. He was too weak to lift himself up from whatever soft material he was lying on. The same pain radiating from his front was pulsing in his spine. He should not have been alive. Turner had sliced through his vital organs, caused instant blood loss. No one should survive such a solid blow.

His vision was clearing. He strained to look about. A room lit by candles, dots of fire, scattered on various tables and other surfaces, so used the wax had dripped and dried, fixing them steadfast where they stood. Mismatched objects scattered around; jars containing unidentifiable liquids; what appeared to be bones of crustaceans clustered in a pile; locked chests and cabinets; objects which he could not even distinguish.

This must be Hell. He had read the Bible, knew what he might have to expect and his current surrounding was extraordinary enough to be anywhere in the normal world. All that was missing was the Hellfire and demons. Yet the warm breeze and the comfortable bed had not been expected. Maybe…not Hell. What if this room was his own Purgatory? God, he hoped not.

Norrington sank back down, wincing from the spike of discomfort the simple move evoked. _So, this is what has become of me._ _Forced to stay bed bound, reliving the pain of being run through over and over. All for her._

Something moved at the foot of the bed, made its way forward to his head and took up residence on a wooden stool beside him. So, he _was_ to be tormented –tortured even – by demons. The fragrance he had smelt before returned, stronger, surprisingly soothing. A face, not as hideous as James thought a demon would be, peered down at him. The face was concerned, also unexpected. He would come to learn what – who - this creature was. For now, however, a metal cup was offered to him and a gentle voice, comprised of broken English, said: ''Ere, drink dis.'

James stared for a while, his brows knitted sceptically. His eyes followed the hand which held the cup, up the arm, the curve of the neck, finally landing on the, still, focused features. Skin like ground cocoa beans, hair like coarse rope. He commanded his eyes to focus but they refused to obey. He was just too weak.

'Drink.' The same voice persisted. The steam rising from the beverage carried with it a waft of something similar to tea, coaxing him to unfurl his brow as it took hold of his senses. The hand guided the cup to his mouth and tilted it up to allow him to drink. At first it stung his dry throat, but slowly a faint alcohol-like burn began to weave its way down into his stomach. He could feel the heat working through every cell in his being; muscles relaxed; cold numbness became welcomed sedation. It even managed to subdue the pain in his torso and back. Eventually the cup was empty. Serenity. Clearly that drink was something much richer than tea; for the first time since waking he felt utterly relaxed.

The cup was set aside and it rattled with a metal clang when it was put down. The figure rose from their seat, the aroma dissipating the moment they moved away. In fact, the entire atmosphere seemed bleaker. James attempted to trace them, but pushing himself up to an angle which would allow him to see properly was impossible in his current state.

The creature was hovering just a small distance away. Was it scowling over the evident damage of his body? No, not scowling, determining the scale of it all. He could just make out the calculating gaze of the figure, as they cocked their head and scrutinised his body. A tentative, narrow-fingered hand found his scar. Just as the soft pads of the creature's finger touched him, James grabbed the hand in an automatic reaction.

But…

His grip faltered. Fingers loosened. His own muscles were betraying him. His hand went limp. Slipped back to his side. Just _what_ had been in that drink? There was no time for an answer. Norrington was led back into the dark; hazy with tiredness and anesthetized with sweet smelling perfume.

x

It would have been easy to assume that he had been poisoned. A part of his mind considered it might be a blessing in disguise, to release him from this limbo he was in. However, the second time James came to, he found himself rather more alert than before. Not just alert. The throbbing in his body had died down, so at least now he could find the strength to prop himself up without grunting in agony. Everything around him was crystal clear. If he wasn't dead, what was this strange place?

James rubbed a hand across his forehead, as he attempted to make sense of it all; it being how he was even alive. He was certain now that he was alive. A beating heart. Working lungs. A – dare he say coherently? – functioning brain. Being alive was all well and good, but he needed answers. Needed to be certain he hadn't lost his mind.

He glanced down. Someone had fixed his shirt, refastened it despite the buttons he had torn off previously. The heavier items of his uniform were nowhere to be seen and besides his shirt his only other clothing was his breeches and boots. Nothing of an unkind nature would be so careful in preserving what little dignity he had. Whoever had been in his presence before he passed out cannot have been a threat to him, as he had first believed.

Norrington suddenly felt hunger tease his empty stomach. He now scoured the room for something to eat, not that it was really his to take. But, as always, if his actions were questioned, he would find a suitable answer. His eyes landed on the table by his head, where the empty cup from earlier still stood. Beside it rested a wooden tray, chipped and cracked at the edges, but solid nonetheless. On it was a bowl with a spoon resting in it, the contents of which was giving out wisps of steam, and beside that a roughly cut piece of bread. His appetite had been anticipated. James reached for the food, set it down on his lap and without hesitation started gulping down large spoonfuls of the soup.

He did not care about manners. No one was there to watch and he was hardly expecting the company of lords and governors. Not expecting _her_.

Pushing that thought aside for a moment, his mind returned to the voice earlier and the gentle touch which had accompanied it. It had been a woman; that was certain. Someone native to these parts – the hand and blurred face had been black. Or lighter. He could not quite remember. The candlelight might have been playing tricks on him.

'Ye feel bett-ah?'

James started at the voice, instantly feeling the heat rise to his face. He had not even realised anyone had entered the room. At first glance he recognised the hands, clasped together in front of the figure's skirts. Their fingers were narrow, agile enough to fasten his shirt without waking him. His gaze travelled upwards, ignoring whatever womanly wiles rested between the hands and the head. Finally he could put a face to the voice. It was still contorted with concern, but youthful. The dark skin glowed with a deep, orange in the light of the many candles. The chin was small, the cheekbones prominent. The nose, rounded yet narrow, suggested a hint of European blood. Dark eyes were fringed with darker lashes and encircled with a thick application of Kohl and the same makeup was dotted around her brow and -kept, coarse, shoulder length dreadlocks encircled all these components, creating a well formed visage.

She – whoever she was – approached with cat-like silence. He watched her warily, eyes narrow and brow furrowed. She paused at his side, retaining a partial gap between them. She watched intently. She was waiting for an answer. It was only then that the gentleman in Norrington realised he was being highly impolite.

'Yes. Thank you.' His voice was hard, cold, more so than usual. It was not a case of being ungrateful. It was his shame. This woman, a complete stranger, had been so attentive when he did not deserve it. If she knew how low he had stooped… Norrington was distracted when he thought he had heard the woman mutter something under her breath. 'Who are you and where am I?' he asked, his manners lapsed.

She moved a step closer, reaching for the empty cup beside him. 'Up riv-ah,' she replied plainly. Norrington frowned at the ambiguity of the answer. "Up river" could have been anywhere in the Caribbean, assuming he was still among those islands. Without a response to his former question the woman departed, with a slow sweep of her long skirts. Upon her return, she was clasping the cup in both hands as if it were some precious object. It had been refilled. Her voice was quiet: 'To 'elp wid de pain.' As if summoned by her, the discomfort returned, as quickly as a faithful dog. He winced.

He did not wish to be impertinent but the fog surrounding this woman needed to be cleared. As the gentleman of him knew, it would be wrong to pressure her into an answer, but he had a right to have his questions answered. He set the half finished soup aside, next to the drink she had brought in. The pain plagued his every move, luckily not as forcefully as before.

'Where exactly is "Up river"?' his words came across with a hint of scorn. She was oblivious or indifferent to it.

'De Pantano.'

James recalled the name, having possibly glanced over it while scanning Naval charts on board ship. That meant he had somehow reached Cuba. To be honest that was one of the least peculiar aspects of this situation.

'And how, exactly, did I reach Cuba, having been onboard a ship in the middle of the ocean?'

The woman's eyes glittered with laughter; not that Norrington could see what was so humorous. Clearly, he would need to be someone of light heart and he had never had the liberty to be that. 'Of all de tings ye could 'ave ask me,' her smile was coy as she spoke. 'De sea brought ye to me, Admiral Norrington.' Each syllable of his name was emphasised on her native tongue. It had never sounded so powerful…

Oh Lord, no. He did not deserve that title anymore. He had schemed for that position, when he was a man he had never wanted to become. It was all. A. Lie.

_Wait...How does she know me?_

'De sea knows everyt'in'.' It was no more than a murmur. He hadn't spoken aloud, yet she had given him an answer –albeit, an unfathomable one – to his question. He had no doubt that many more of her answers would be as clear as the dark waters of the Pantano. 'Are ye not curious?' Norrington looked up at the woman. Her lips were still upturned, now with a more wry twist. She had a brow cocked and her eyes sparkled with the many secrets behind them, like the crests of the sea in the midday sun.

'About what?'

'As t' how ye return t' de world of de livin'.'

Norrington believed he did, however, he soon came to question what he would gain from the answer. He doubted any of it would make sense to him and maybe being alive was the most important thing, not how it all came to pass.

Eventually, all he asked was, 'Did you have a hand in it?'

The woman bowed her head accordingly; the adornments weaved into her hair jingled as she did so. 'An' now ye can rest.' She turned to leave, in a gliding manner which was as graceful as her features.

'Wait,' James called after her, in a firm voice.

'Yes?'

'You have me at a disadvantage,' he continued. 'You know who I am, but you have refused to disclose your name.'

'My name?' The woman started twirling the cord of one of her necklaces about her finger, eyeing up Norrington under the curtain of her lashes. She had a teasing look, like a child who was trying to keep a secret although they knew it would eventually burst out. 'I am known as Teuta.'


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:** Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

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><p>When Teuta was young, no more than seven years of age, she would sit outside in the hazy twilight of the bayou. The sunlight which oozed through the dense forest made pools of light dance across the surface of the water. The ferns at the water's edge drooped over her in a leafy canopy. The monstrous, twisted trunks of the trees caged her on the jetty outside the shack, but their hunchback forms did not worry her. Not even the shadow-like, ghostly figures of the other villagers were enough to perturb her. Everything was calm. Everything was quite.<p>

Her coarse hair curled thick about her head. It hadn't been brushed for quite some time and now resembled a bird's nest or tangles and knots. Her skirts dirtied with grass stains and dried mud. She had only put it on that morning, but already her curious antics had taken her through the forest and along the river bank. On her journey she had taken little heed of how dirty her dress had become and knew that her mother would force her to scrub out the stains herself. Her small feet teased the dark surface of the river beneath her. She would listen. Just listen. The ripples of the water, as her toes traced it. The disturbance in the shallows from harmless reptiles. The hum of the river, which drifted all the way in from the sea; a faint tune, which she gradually came to learn.

Sometimes it was gentle. Sometimes it was harsh. And sometimes the song would speak. It told her of great battles out at sea; of the fearful Davy Jones; of pirates! It was for more exciting to sit outside most of the time than it was to stay indoors. Teuta knew that if her mother did not tell her a story, the river would. She would hum the tune of the water. Eventually it became her own and she hummed it everywhere, especially when her mind wandered and she forgot time itself.

One afternoon, her mother decided it was time that her hair should be tamed. It was not befitting anymore for her hair to be left to grow like a wild plant. She was turning into a young lady, not a rebel child. Her mother muttered all sorts of exclamations when she saw the state of it – "De fores' is bett-ah kept!", "Do ye ev-ah comb ye 'air?", "Do ye want de birds t' nest in der?" – but it was only now she had finally caught her daughter long enough to let her do something about it. Teuta protested at first, as any child would, but one look from her mother and she surrendered.

She was forced to seat herself on the wooden floor of the shack, crossed legged and amuse herself with the tattered hem of her dress. Her mother then took up a stool behind her and began to comb and plait the tangled mess upon her daughter's head. Teuta would whimper at random intervals when there was a particularly troublesome knot that her mother had to pick and prise apart, with a painful rip of locks.

A while into the lengthy procedure, when her mother had overcome the worst of the matted areas, Teuta's inquisitive mind was starting to nag her for answers. She did not have them, so there was only he mother to turn to.

'Mamma,' she began, keeping her head still, 'will I ever meet a pirate?'

Her mother did not stop at the question; her nimble fingers continuing to twist her daughter's coarse afro. 'Who tell ye of pirates, _Bébé_?' asked the older woman from behind her, tying off the first of the many well crafted dreadlocks she intended to do.

'De sea.'

A subtle laugh escaped her mother's lips; not laughing at her young daughter, but as if she had had a similar experience. 'De sea is unpredictable an' untrus'wort'y, _Bébé_.'

Teuta frowned dramatically, although her mother couldn't see. 'I t'ought ye were de sea, Mamma?'

'An' am I not unpredictable?' The little girl could almost hear the smile in her mother's voice.

Teuta would have nodded, if had not been for her mother's strict instructions not to move her head. Instead she made a quite mutter in agreement. She was wise for a child her age. Her mother used to say such things with a humorous undertone. However, the day soon came when Teuta had realised many of her mother's words were truth. Her mother was capable of many things, she was a witch after all, the most powerful witch in the Caribbean, some would say. She could control anything she wanted.

Silence passed between them as her mother continued to braid her hair. It was only when the woman was on the last dread that Teuta's curiosity would not be contained any longer and she was forced to ask her mother another question.

''Ave _ye_ ev-ah met a pirate?'

Teuta was not gratified with an answer. In fact her mother refused to answer. After the last dreadlock was tied off, her mother rose from her stool and retreated across to the other side of the room. Able to move, Teuta looked over her shoulder to see her mother sitting at her table, arched over the scattered crab claws on its surface.

'Mamma?' The little girl clambered awkwardly to her feet, with a new found sway in her hair. Her head was heavier, causing her to feel off balance.

'_Bébé_, pirates are de men of de sea. O' course I 'ave met dem.' At this Teuta's eyes lit up with excitement and she skipped over to the table, with a jangle of the beads and small cowry shells in her hair. As the bridge of her nose only just reached the table, she pushed herself up on her tiptoes, with an expectant gaze at her mother. However, the woman had a dark look across her black face, one which she was trying to disguise as concentration. 'Dey are nuttin' but trouble.' The last word rumbled from her mother's lips and hung in the air, stagnant.

Sensing that this topic was not to be taken further – however much it disheartened her – Teuta tottered across to the full length mirror which leant against the wall across from the table. She admired her mother's work; flicking each dreadlock in turn; playing with the adornments plaited within them. She looked a perfect miniature of her mother; although she had many years to go before her cheeks plumpness turned into angled cheekbones, years until she had the curves to fill out a grown woman's dress, and longer still until she could finally call herself an Obeah witch.

'T'ank you, Mamma,' she beamed. Her mother turned away from her readings, unable to contain the smile which erupted from her painted lips. It was impossible to retain a sombre mood when her daughter was so chirpy. She opened out her arms for the little girl, who bounded over and jumped into the firm hug. Her mother smelt of freshly sliced mango and Teuta buried her head in her mother's chest. The woman kissed the crown of her head and pulled the small frame of her daughter on to her lap.

Teuta settled herself and scanned the assortment of shells; it looked like nothing to her, but she knew her mother read much deeper into their arrangement. 'Will ye teach me t' see destiny?'

Her mother stroked Teuta's hair lethargically. 'Aye, dat I will, _Bébé_.'

x

He intrigued her. To be more specific, she found his perpetual need to maintain his gentlemanly manners rather amusing. After discovering her name, he had decided it was improper to call her by her first name when they were not well acquainted. He asked if she had a surname or a title he could refer to her as, but she had no such thing. Teuta's mother had not had a last name and neither did she.

'Jus' Teuta,' she had said; a smile in her eyes. Why would she take it as an offence to be called the name that had been given to her? With no more deliberation on the matter, she had left him to eat and sleep.

Teuta took up the seat her mother had so regularly occupied; a worn arm chair, covered with wine red paisley fabric which was slightly tattered, battered at the legs and sunken in the middle. But still it remained in the shack and still she sat in it.

On the table before her was a coconut she had already cracked open and drained the milk from. She took hold of a small knife and began carving the flesh from the inside of the seed.

Her thoughts turned to the Admiral in the adjacent room. He was a troubled man, no, a broken man. Beyond the external wound, there was a disturbance behind his chartreuse eyes, she just hadn't yet deciphered what that something was. A job? Possible, but not very likely. A place? Teuta discarded that idea. A person…a _woman_? Most likely a woman. Women could break a man in two with a single misplaced word; especially a man in love. With her mind sidetracked, she cut nonchalantly, scraping each creamy-white chunk aside as it is separated from the skin.

There was something turbulent inside James Norrington which she wanted _–needed_ – to know. She wanted to be able to help; be as skilled as her mother. But healing a human on the inside was much more complex than extracting the inside of a coconut.

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><p><em><strong>AN:** I wish I had made up the name Teuta, but actually it comes from the name of a pirate queen (Teuta of Illyria) who ruled over the realm that Tia Dalma's name is an anagram of: Dalmatia_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:** Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

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><p>James was lost. So inexplicably lost; like a ship set adrift in a storm. The storm had a name. He had always known it had a name.<p>

Elizabeth Swann.

For her, he had waited, hiding his feelings behind his stoic, military exterior; to one day have her to his own. Then he lost her, the one woman he had loved, to a pirating blacksmith. Will Turner was brasher than James; a young man who acted on impulse, in the same way Elizabeth was a young woman who acted on emotion. Those emotions had drawn him to her. Those emotions had destroyed him. To say he was bitter would be an understatement.

James struggled to roll on to his side and bury his face in his pillow, finding that the pain refused to be sated. He groaned.

Twice he had lost her. He should not have let it happen; let himself fall in love again. Elizabeth's charming ways were enough to break him from his alcohol induced stupor. He was worthless then, - Jack had got it right: "a rum-pot deckhand what takes orders from pirates" - yet still found it impossible not to follow her every word like a lost puppy.

For he had been lost then, still felt lost now. Will had been absent at the time. It was then the idea that James may have a second chance was not such an intangible belief. If Mr. Turner had had the misfortune of falling at Davy Jones' hand, Norrington admitted to himself that he would have been barely sympathetic at the boy's passing. However, he would have been more than willing to offer a supportive arm to Elizabeth. But it turned out the young pirate was alive and well, and Elizabeth was once again swept away. Norrington had felt his heartstrings severed in an instant; he would rather be dead, than watch Elizabeth kiss another man, for the _second_ time.

The pain doubled its efforts to rouse him from the half-sleep state he was in. It scratched angrily in his skin, tore through his flesh.

Elizabeth Swann. He died for her. He just could not let her go without proving he was better than what Tortuga and months of rum had turned him into. He knew he would be risking his life when he decided to turn his back on the East India Trading Company and the crew of the _Flying Dutchman_; but he would always, had always, been willing to risk life and limb for her and only her. He would do anything she bid of him. Elizabeth knew how to manipulate him; mould him to her will. She was the only one who had ever had that power of him. Always the spoilt girl who got what she wanted.

_James, come with me._

_Elizabeth. _

Norrington contorted his features in anguish and physical pain. Her name was no more than a murmur on his lips. His hand clutched at the front of his shirt; finding it damp and warm. The distinct taste of iron began to rise in his throat. The wound had been ripped open and bled freely. His shirt became heavy and damp with blood.

Firm hands pulled him on to his back; held his shoulder to pin him to the bed. He could hear the flow of indistinguishable curses spouting from Teuta's lips. She released one arm and reached down to his shirt. He groaned weakly, grabbing her arm with a clammy hand, just as she attempted to unbutton the garment.

'Leave me,' he snarled, through gritted teeth.

'Don't be so foolish,' she retorted sharply, releasing herself from his grasp.

'I don't deserve to be saved!'

'Dat be your opinion.'

James did not try to stop her the second time. The air hit his skin with a somewhat relieving cool. It was soon replaced with heat. Her hand was warm against his torso; it was smooth and moved with a tentative assuredness. Her voice turned soft and low. She recited an incantation, or two. Under any other circumstances, Norrington would have declared her mentally unstable, but as her previous methods had worked he could not protest. A calidity was radiating from her palm; repairing him from the inside out.

The warmth dissipated, but the hand remained; lingering with tracing fingers. Then eventually, those too vanished. Teuta's face was not in the least bit as gentle as her hand. Her brow had knitted angrily; lips pursed; eyes darkened in unmistakable fury; a glare which was enough to make sure James would not break eye contact.

'I cannot 'elp ye, if ye will not 'elp yerself,' she hissed, rising to her full height. 'Ye mus' forgive yerself, Admiral Norrington, or remain adrift, forev-ah.' James could not think of a suitable response, if there even was one. He was rendered silent from the unexpected ferocity; the only sound being his paced breathing, as she continued to scowl at him. He licked his lips before finally breaking the stillness.

'My actions do not warrant absolution,' he eventually said in a hushed voice. The dark eyes staring down at him softened almost instantly and the tight lips relaxed.

'De sea saw fit for me t' lead ye from de land of de dead. Ye 'ave a purpose on dis eart'. Do not forget dat.'

James made a grunt of acrimony, but found himself unable to summon the conviction to look Teuta in the eye. The witch let out an audible sigh and without another word on the matter vacated the room; her skirts skimming across the wooden floor, in the same way waves caressed the hull of a ship.

James wished he could believe her words; to be destined for greater things than what he had been. _Right now, I am struggling to find any clarity in life._

x

The gentleman in him felt the need to apologise. He had been ungrateful and that had clearly offended her. Teuta had been gone for over two hours at least; it was probable that she had left the shack altogether. This had given him a very long period to contemplate the best way of fixing their damaged relationship. _You can hardly call it a "relationship". _She had been right, it would be wrong for him to give up. He should grasp this opportunity with both hands.

_Oh, if only it were that simple._

A door was closed in the next room, followed by something heavy being dumped on a hard surface. A constant, timed patter of water sounded, increasing in volume. Wet fabric slapped against the floor, before the same fabric was dragged along in his direction. Dreadlocks dripped pools on to the floor, sodden and plastered to the head they were rooted too.

Teuta, though, was in much higher spirits than her appearance. In stark contrast to her previously ominous features, her face was lit up with a beaming smile. Her skin glistened with a light sheen of water; her chest was heaving with exertion; her body trembling slightly from the water which was soaking into her dress. She had the appearance of a drowned cat, but the expression of an excited child.

James could not hide the confusion which took hold of his face. He also could not help but notice how appealing her smile was. It made her eyes twinkle, as if they contained a great many stars. He had not known such happiness for such a long time; he almost feared that he might never find it within himself to smile again.

_She makes being care-free look so easy. Damn. Her._ Shocked by his own thought, he chided himself.

''As de pain gone?' she asked. Her voice was caring, even though it did not fit the smile on her face.

'Marginally,' James replied, then added, 'thank you.' Part of him wanted to shout at her; tell her that in reality it was unfair that she could be so relaxed, while he was bed bound. Then his sincere nature took hold and he knew he would never want to inflict his torment on to this woman, who had so far been nothing but kind. He was curious as to what she had been up to, looking up and down at her current state of dress. 'If I may enquire, where were you?'

'At de mout' of de riv-ah, on de sandy beach.' She reached up to one long lock and began to wring out the excess moisture. The water from it trickled down the hollow of her neck and across the curve of her chest. 'I can show ye when ye can walk.'

Walking. Now that was something he had yet to do since being…resurrected. He could feel his legs, so he certainly was not paralyzed, but becoming accustomed to putting his weight on them after however many days would be a brand new challenge. Teuta was moving towards a wooden flight of stairs on the far side of the room.

'Der be no need for an apology, Admiral Norrington.' Her lips had turned upwards in a more sincere smile this time and the sparkle in her eyes had become a warm lake of dark tones. For a second it reminded him of a look he had seen grace Elizabeth's features on numerous occasions - although none of these glances had been in his direction.

Teuta turned her back on him. He watched her leave; the last thing he saw of her was the tail end of her dress slink away, as she clambered up the stairs with wet, padding steps. The floorboards above him creaked with her weight as she moved across the higher levels. He half expected the excess water in her clothing to drip through the many cracks in the ceiling, but nothing fell. Norrington sank back into the pillow with an exasperated breath.

_How on God's earth does she always manage to read me so well?_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:** Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

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><p>Teuta draped her damp clothes in front of the open window of her room; a cool breeze would dry them faster than the candles which were scattered about. Now naked, the same wind which rustled the hem of her dress nipped at her skin, raising goose bumps along her flesh. The fine hairs covering her limbs tingled and stood on end; a shiver ran through her being. It was as refreshing as the water she had just waded through. That was the fastest way to travel anywhere along the Pantano and many of the natives did the same. She was not afraid of the surrounding forests, far from it. Her mother had taken her into them from an early age, teaching her about the plants, the animals, the safest paths from the shack to the shore and those that led further into the island.<p>

Teuta walked over to an antique trunk that sat in the corner of her room. It was almost as old as the chair downstairs. The blue exterior was faded and dented in places, the catch tarnished. She remembered her mother once saying she had found it on the shores, amongst driftwood and seaweed, but thought it too pretty to let it go to waste. Teuta rummaged through the clothes in it, scattering garments and eventually producing a clean dress. It was plain and simple - not as heavy as the one she had hung up to air – and burgundy in colour. She wasn't one for looking in mirrors for the sake of it; vanity was not a trait which Teuta had developed in her adult years. She only needed the reflection to ensure the bodice of the dress was tied up properly. She bound her drying hair up in a loose bun, with the shorter locks escaping to fall on either side of her face. Some streaks of Kohl stained her face and with a little pressure, managed to wipe it away with the pads of her fingers. She did not delay her return downstairs any longer.

The floorboards creaked, signalling her entrance. She appeared to have caught the Admiral off guard. His head snapped in her direction with a look, of what appeared to be, curiosity tinted with embarrassment. She was a perceptive character, but even she could not work out why he would be so uneasy. If it was due to his current state of dress, there was no need for him to feel ashamed. She had already seen him in various states of undress. His loose shirt and breeches did not even make her bat an eyelid. Or maybe his bashfulness had something to do with his current seated position. She did not miss the sweeping glance he passed over her person, before hurriedly staring at an interesting spot on the floor.

Teuta smiled at his shyness, placing her weight on one leg and settling her hands on the curve of her hips. 'Can ye walk den?'

Norrington's feet were firmly planted on the floor, although he was still sat on the edge of the bed. She could see the end of his boots being nudged up and down as he flexed his toes experimentally. 'No. I have not yet tried,' he replied. 'I fear I may not yet be strong enough.'

'Well,' Teuta moved towards the threshold of the room, 'when ye find de strengt', come find me.' She slipped through the curtains. The darkness was creeping over the evening outside and she set about lighting some more candles in the main room of the shack. It was as cluttered as it had always been; jars hanging from the ceiling; odd pieces of furniture; dried plants hanging and stored away; crab bones; a plethora of weird and strange objects. All of it was of use and so all of it remained the way it had always been. Much of the shack had never, and most likely would never, change.

With every candle lit, everything in the room became caressed in a warm, sun-like glow. The smell of candle wax began to permeate the room. With that task complete, Teuta planned how she would complete the next on her mental list. Or rather she would have done, if she had not been interrupted.

A faint cough and the creak of wood below feet alerted her to the presence of Admiral Norrington. Teuta did not move in alarm – she had anticipated his arrival would not be much longer after she had entered – and instead turned casually, peering at her house guest with interest. He stood unsteadily, using the doorway for support. One hand was pressed protectively over his wound. His height was impressive, his frame lean from the many years of sword fighting.

A smile broke out on her face, but sadly he appeared incapable of reciprocating it. 'Come.' She pulled out a chair for him, at the same table the armchair sat beside. Norrington staggered over and gratefully sat in the offered seat, with a wave of grimace flashing across his features.

'I must say,' he began, taking in a strained breath, 'I never expected to find my feet, considering the day's earlier situation. Your…skills are quite miraculous.'

Teuta gave a humble nod of appreciation. When she looked again, the pain in the Admiral's face had eased and he was now gazing around the room, with a lowered brow of bemusement. Teuta was in no way offended; she rarely was. She understood the surroundings were not conventional for someone from a world like Norrington's. He indubitably came from a place where English houses seemed misplaced in their Caribbean surroundings; where there was a social stratum, of which someone of her colour would definitely be at the bottom, level pegging with pirates. However, in her world, those classifications were obsolete.

'Give me ye shirt,' she said, holding out a hand and distracting the Admiral from his visual rummaging.

'Excuse me?'

'Give me ye shirt,' she repeated. 'I need t' wash it.' Teuta had not forgotten the blood stain, now dried. There was probably a similar mark on the bed sheets. 'I 'ave spare.'

Norrington made a face, as if to protest about disrobing in front of her, but there was no excuse good enough to justify wearing sodden clothing. He leaned forward in his chair, tucked his fingers under the hem of the shirt and slipped it off in one swift movement. He held it out to Teuta, who took it and folded it up gently.

'T'ank you,' she smiled. She deliberately avoided looking below his shoulders. She had a nagging feeling to take a fleeting glance; but she decided that was her maternal instinct, continuously wanting to check how the wound was healing. She had, however, caught a glimpse of the muscles flexing in his arms as he had stripped.

Teuta removed the sheets from the bed in the next room and folded them in a bundle with the shirt. She left the both items at the base of the stairs and hurried to her room in search of a suitable replacement.

''Ere.' She returned with a crisp shirt, folded neatly, as if a well skilled maid had done it. The shirt fit perfectly and Norrington thanked her in his usual gentlemanly fashion. She wished she could tell him that he didn't have to be so proper with her. But it was his way and she would not disrupt that. In fact, she found it rather attractive.

x

The tantalizing smells of cooking had begun wafting through the open windows and front door of the shack. Teuta was squatting on the porch, the curve her back just visible in the doorway. She was humming; a slow song, beautiful and melodic, in time with the stirring of the pot. James could not say he was familiar with the tune, although he had many at sea. Unable to stand or walk comfortably, for the meantime, James had remained in the chair he had sat in since he entered the room. Said room was a confusing amalgamation; mixtures of common and uncommon, peculiar and even more peculiar. There was no category for such a collection of odd pieces, highly reflective of their owner. She was indefinable, an enigma, even amongst the unnatural things he had seen since he became a Commodore of the Royal Navy. He had been conversing with said enigma since she slipped out on to the porch of the shack.

It had begun as idle chit-chat, while she scrubbed the blood from the laundry. Once clean, she had brought the shirt and sheets back inside and draped them in front of a window. James was impressed; there was no sign of a stain on any of the items. She did not stay inside very long – she was self-dependant and hard-working – and stepped out once more to begin boiling water for food.

James eyes wandered from the Teuta's back to the table beside him. A simple piece of jewellery caught his attention – a gold ring, set with a circular, green jewel – which he picked up between his thumb and forefinger. He eyed it with curiosity, questioning its origin, its meaning. For all he knew it could have been a cheap piece of costume jewellery.

'I do not wish to pry,' he looked across at Teuta, 'but would you mind if I enquired into a personal subject?'

The young woman leaned back on her haunches and returned the look through the doorway. Her eyes were brightly expectant, as she shook her head.

'Are you or have you ever been married?'

The woman cocked her head. 'Why?' A wry smile curved Teuta's mouth. 'Are ye offerin'?' A tinge a pink and a rush of heat came to James' cheeks. He swallowed hard. Her flirtatious question had wiped the words from his mind, rendering him momentarily mute. She clearly sensed the awkward tension and the smile faded into a more genuine look. 'No, I 'ave not. Life 'as show me dat tie does vex men an' women.'

James put down the ring. He could not find a statement to argue that point. Nothing but deceit and turmoil had come from his brief period of engagement to Elizabeth Swann. He now dreaded to think what may have occurred if they had been married, when she was in love with another man. That moment seemed to be no more than a dream recently; when his world was without mystically cursed and humanoid fish pirates. From the day he had lost her, he had promised himself if –and that was a strong if – he ever intended to pursue marriage again, he would find someone of much more physical and emotional maturity.

His mind returned to the present. So, she lived alone. It was normally considered improper for an unmarried lady to be alone in a house with a single man. _She is hardly the stereotypical image of a lady._ James scolded himself for his own thought. He should not be so uncivil; merely because he was comparing her to the women he usually associated with. 'And what of your parents? Mother? Father?' Teuta had returned to mixing the food.

'My father…' she began, trailing off with a thoughtful tone. ''Im was a sailor.' _Sailor or pirate?_ 'I never know him. An' my Mamma, she leave me 'er 'ome an' everytin' in it.'

'He did not…' James did not want to appear impertinent, and chose his words carefully before continuing. He might have been stepping in to dangerous territory with his next question. 'He did not forcibly violate your mother, did he?'

'Ye mean rape?' Norrington was taken aback by her candidness. 'No.' He trusted her words. She was not the product of a single encounter, nor that of a marriage; merely a child born out of wedlock. But whoever this sailor was, he had clearly had feelings for her mother. There was mixed blood in Teuta; visible in her creamy brown complexion – a rather appealing skin tone, if he was to make a judgement. And what now? Her father absent and her mother dead?

James curiosity was peaked, as were his taste buds, when the poignant scent of freshly cooked fish hit his senses. His remaining questions fell short on his tongue. Teuta shut the front door on her way in, nudging it closed with her buttocks, while carrying the steaming pot in both hands. The aromatic spices made him wish he wasn't temporarily crippled, as he might have taken the whole metal vessel and eaten with as much decorum as the men of Tortuga.

There was a certain familiarity to sitting with her as they ate. There was no awkwardness in sharing a meal without the company of others. James was sure that if he had been alone with Elizabeth his words would have betrayed him and he would have turned into a fumbling little boy. However, his host had taken up the arm chair diagonally opposite him, tucked her legs to the side – he finally realised her bare feet were the contributory factor to her silent walk – and conducted herself without the stifling manners of the ladies of Port Royal. He was not always the most perceptive of characters, but James could tell that Teuta was not a person of numerous faces which changed depending on her company. Overall, he found their amiable silence was a rather refreshing atmosphere.

Afterwards, when the bowls were empty and the world outside completely shrouded in darkness, James and Teuta were still sat at the table. Out of politeness, his attention was completely fixed on her, but he found himself still inquisitive as to some aspects of the young women and her home. His questions may have been deemed inappropriate in Port Royal, but considering as she had been so open and honest with him before, James decided he would continue with his investigation. _After all, I have a right to know who I may be living with for God knows how long. _

'Yer eyes tell me ye still 'ave questions, Admiral Norrington.' Teuta's statement broke James train of thought. He realised he had been staring and made a deliberate blink in another direction.

'If you don't mind?'

'Not at all.'

'Do you help others, or am I the exception?'

'De villagers come t' me,' she shifted in her seat, flexing her cramped muscles. 'I do what I can, wid what I 'ave.' It sounded like she had a lot on her shoulders, for one so young. James mentally corrected himself. She was not a child, by any means. She was a young woman, an adult and perfectly capable. But everyone was dependant on her and now he could not help but feel he might have been a burden to her.

'And you have always…' he hesitated. What exactly would she be classed as? A doctor? A witch? A combination of the two? He didn't need to finish his sentence; she had anticipated his question and already had a response, as usual.

'My Mamma did all dis b'fore me. She was willin' t' 'elp anyone, an' everyone know it. Natives, sailors…even pirates.'

James could not ignore the distaste in her voice at the mention of his most hated adversaries. He'd defeated many in his time in the Navy, but none had been quite as testing as Jack Sparrow. Norrington practically snarled as he thought of that nuisance of a pirate. _He's rather more than a nuisance!_ _The destruction of my life was all down to him!_ It was Sparrow who had permanently disrupted the peace of Port Royal. It was Sparrow who had caused his crew to be lost in Tripoli. It was Sparrow who had caused all the business with Davy Jones. If James could see one man killed by his sword, it would be Sparrow.

'I don't suppose you have ever heard of a Jack Sparrow?'

Teuta's eyes turned dark at the name, but her face remained emotionless. ''Im come 'ere often when I was young.' Her voice was hard; poisonous. 'An' 'im nuttin' but trouble.'

'Then it appears we share a mutual dislike for Mister Sparrow.'

* * *

><p>I would like to thank my matey Ruechel for her following contribution:<p>

_James: OMG I hate Jack Sparrow!_  
><em> Teuta: Really? Me too!<em>  
><em> James: Cool.<em>  
><em> Teuta: ...<em>  
><em> James: So, should we do it?<em>  
><em> Teuta: I've got a spare 5 minutes.<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer: **Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

* * *

><p>When Jack Sparrow had first arrived, Teuta was eleven.<p>

The sun was still creeping to the pinnacle of the sky, writhing through the leaves of the dense forest, shedding emerald light on the Pantano waters. The figures of villagers, wading, waist-deep, further up river were just visible from where Teuta sat on the edge of the shack's porch. She was humming her song to herself, the echo of it reverberating off the drooping leaves. Her legs dangled on either side of one wooden rail, as she peered through the gap, eyes fixated on the gentle ripples on the surface of the water. A reptile of some sort swam casually in the river, before darting suddenly. A violent lash of its tail. A spray of water. It vanished into the murky depths. A dingy was bobbing towards the small jetty below, crewed by a single man.

Teuta watched the stranger approach with interest. The person tied up their vessel and bounded on to the jetty. They inhaled a deep intake of humid air, gazing about at their new surroundings and walking towards the ladder which led up to the porch Teuta was positioned on. She jumped to her feet and made her small frame a barrier between the shack and the man approaching her. She had been self-promoted from lookout to guard. The man had not realised there was someone in his way, until he almost knocked into her on his way up.

The man grinned, showing poorly kept teeth, many of which glinted gold in the light. His firm jaw was covered in a sprinkling of dark stubble, as was his top lip. His face had been darkened by the sun, almost burnt, on the bridge of his straight nose. His dark eyes sparkled, mirroring the smile across his face. His hair was untamed, a tangled, dark mess, only held down by a wide, red bandanna, fastened tightly around his brow. There was no mistaking it; he was a pirate.

'Ah! Boy!'

Teuta had reached a point in her life where dresses were one of the most impractical items of clothing to ever exist. When she was younger, her mother would always dress her up in gowns. But now, with an opinion of her own, Teuta no longer wanted to be dressed. So, on most days she wore old shirts and tattered trousers, usually only considered fit for boys. Without close inspection, she was indistinguishable from the opposite gender and was often mistaken for a boy from a distance. On this occasion, the floppy rim of the hat she had donned shadowed the developing feminine features on her face.

It was only when the stranger turned the rim up, his smile faltered, as he realised his mistake. 'Girl? Err…watch me boat.'

Teuta glanced questioningly at the so called "boat". It could hardly be considered as such. The hull was rotting; there was no sign of a mast. It appeared the dingy would sink to the depths if even a small child were to sit in it.

Before she could give a response, the man had gently pushed her aside and strode into the shack. Teuta found herself intrigued rather than frustrated by the stranger's rudeness, for now. She followed him with caution; where he was very sure of himself, she was careful and trod with trepidation. Teuta peered round the frame of the front door, which had been wide open even before the man had arrived.

She could see her mother, who had a smile as if she were meeting an old friend. 'So, ye 'ave finally found yer way t' me, Jack Sparrow.' His name rolled off her mother's tongue, inviting him forward.

'You know me?'

'Ye know de sea an' derefore I know you.'

A smile came to Jack's face, bragging with gold. He was arrogant, cocky. Teuta was beginning to dislike him; she was annoyed that she could not perceive what plan this man was hatching in that mind of his.

'I was told ye would be the one to help, if I was in need of some, Tia Dalma.'

Teuta padded lightly into the shack, unnoticed by the adults. She took up a space behind a cabinet, where she lay down like a prowling beast and watched her mother and Jack in between the gap of the floor and the underside of the cabinet. She had become practised in the art of skulking around the shack, and the forest for that matter.

'What need do ye 'ave of me?' Her mother's eyes were teasing, as was the close proximity of her body to his. Teuta did not like the way Jack was eyeing up her mother, as if he owned her. He had no right, when he was hardly a man. A firm presence of youth graced his features and the slightly lanky form of his body showed he had not been pirating for long.

'I need a ship, a particular ship,' Jack explained, strolling over to a chest of drawers at the side of the room. He picked up a jar and scrutinized the contents as he spoke. 'Ye might have heard of it; the _Black Pearl_.' Something in her mother's eyes sparkled at the name. _What be so special 'bout a petty ship?_ Teuta could ask her mother that later; she knew that woman would have foreseen Jack's future long ago. Her mother would know exactly how the ship would come to change the journey of his life; she would have read it in the crab claws. In her sleep. In the sea.

'An' what makes ye t'ink I can 'elp ye procure de _Pearl_?' Her tongue ran along her black coated bottom lip; Jack watched it with intent concentration. He made no response to the question at first. But he abandoned the jar and moved back over to Teuta's mother. _Get away from 'er, ye dirty pirate!_

'Don't tease me,' he warned, although he still had a smirk at the corner of his lips. 'I may be young, but I'm not stupid.' _I t'ink ye are. _Teuta watched as her mother leaned in further, lips mere millimetres from Jack's right ear.

'Ye be a witty one, Jack Sparrow,' she whispered, before drawing back. As quickly as she had moved to seduce him, Teuta's mother walked round to the opposite side of the table behind her and sat gracefully into her battered arm chair, reclining into the cushioned back. 'De ship ye seek was sunk long ago. If ye want it raised from dat salty tomb, ye must find a captain.'

Jack rested both hands on the table and leaned across, his instinctual pirate greed swirling in the dark pools of his eyes. 'What. Captain?'

'De captain of de _Flying Dutchman_.' Her mother paused with dramatic suspense. 'Davy Jones.'

An uncontrollable wave of dread ran down Teuta's spine. The sea had told her of Davy Jones. Death bringer. Deal maker. The worst nightmare of any who travelled the sea. However, the sea had also given her glimpses of a sailor; a good man who had been honest and loved a woman with all his being - as of yet, the sea had not been very detailed on the matter. So Teuta could only wonder which story was fact and which was false.

Movement distracted Teuta from her brooding. Jack was looming over her mother, not in a menacing manner; the look on his face was predatory, seductive even. 'How do I find Jonesy?' he asked, his voice low.

'I 'ave sumtin' dat will lead ye to 'im.' Her lips were parted, as she passed an assessing look over the pirate. 'But what do ye 'ave in return, hm? What can ye give _me_, Jack Sparrow?'

Teuta wanted to shout, scream, anything to distract them. She wanted to tell him to go away; to find Davy Jones by himself. If he was so clever, he could certainly work out a way by himself. And yet, Teuta found herself fixed with an unidentifiable interest in the situation.

'I have nothin' of value…' Jack was suddenly overcome with a moment of thought, mixed with scheming. 'I will when I have the _Pearl_!' Teuta's mother shook her head with exaggerated disappointment and wiggled her index finger in his face.

'Not good enough.'

'Then the only thing I got is me-self, luv'.'

Their kiss was enough to force Teuta from her hiding place. She did not wish to hear or see any more, so she scurried from the shack, back out on to the porch. The damp air of the bayou enveloped her as she sat on the jetty. At that moment the outside felt more homely than the inside. There was something consistent about nature, the sea especially. It was unpredictable, but always there. She could always return to it time and again, whatever its temperament. Teuta realised now that people were not the same; her mother had quickly forgotten her when a witty, charming young man had stepped into her midst. She kicked a bare foot at the water, splashing it in every direction and splattering her trousers.

It would be a long while before she went back into the shack.

x

Teuta told the Admiral her first encounter with Jack Sparrow, and he listened with genuine interest. She was grateful that he did not press her for answers she may have struggled to disclose. When her story was over, he had yawned discretely, excused himself from the table and bid her goodnight. Teuta had sat in deep thought for a while after he staggered from the room, finding that her mind wandered into questioning where Mister Sparrow may currently be. He was not dead; he had returned to the bayou not long ago, his usual witty-self. He only wanted to use her mother again, this time it was to escape Davy Jones. How ironic, the captain who had given him a ship and his title was now hunting him down demanding payment for his troubles. _'Im deserve what Davy Jones give 'im_, she had thought at the time.

She did not sleep that night. The bowls were cleaned and stored away. The candles were fading fast. Teuta left them to burnout. The sea was calling her out. She didn't care about the time of day. Light. Dark. It made no difference to her. In the early hours the fading fireflies played about her, illuminating her path along the banks of the river. The sun was yet to rise, but the warm glow along the horizon was beginning to wander through the dense trees. The path was as well known to Teuta as the number of Kohl dots on her face; always the same.

No one else was out this early, except her and the fireflies. She was grateful of that. The villagers had been whispering about her – she had heard them – and they judged her. Her mother helping pirates was acceptable to them, but to save a man who might betray their freedom to the Trading Company was too risky. She ignored their cynicism. She knew Admiral Norrington would never be so heartless.

The sea was beautiful at this time. Not yet sparkling with thousands of stars under its salty crests and not so dark that it was impossible to see any sort of reflection in it. There were pallid colours; washed out blues and greens, sparse strokes of white foam. The sand turned crumbly under Teuta's damp feet, creeping between her toes, massaging her soles. She walked all the way to the water's edge, where the tide was washing its debris on to the coast; a scattering of objects which could certainly be found somewhere about her home. The water nipped at her feet, ankles, calves. She hitched up the long skirt of her dress, until her knees were visible then submerged them in the biting water. The goose pimples settled on her skin, until she became accustomed to it. Then, in vain of her attempt at keeping her clothing dry, she sat in the clay-like sands of the sea bed. She sighed, hugging her knees. She absorbed the feel of the water on her skin, the way each little wave caressed her skin, tugged at her dress.

Something was different; the sea was different. It felt…_alive_. Overflowing with tenderness; power; excitement; anger; love. And Teuta knew there could only be one explanation for it.

On her return, she found all the candles had died, leaving nothing but solidified, waxy pools in their place. The natural light was now enough to fill the room. She closed the front door quietly, conscious that the Admiral may still have been sleeping. However, as the door's catch clicked, a quiet noise in the next room told her otherwise. Teuta's damp clothes dragged heavily behind her, leaving a liquid trail, as if a soaked mop had been swiped across the floorboards. She slipped through the curtains and her eyes instantly found Admiral Norrington.

'Mornin'.'

Norrington turned to her with his perpetual stoic expression, although there may have been a glimmer of a smile in his light green eyes. 'Good morning.' He was standing without weakness; his hands quickly pulling the hem of his shirt down and tucking it into the waistband of his breeches to cover his stomach. Teuta had expected as much – she did not doubt her own abilities and knew it would not take much longer for the pain to go away – but she did not show her usual wide, joyous smile. A heavy weight had pulled at her heart and it couldn't be relieved with a simple grin.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: **Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

* * *

><p>James feared his current odour was reminiscent of his Tortuga days. In fact, it was more than likely his overall appearance would have made it easy for anyone to mistake for a rum-soaked pirate. He could feel the stubble scratching on his jaw, the tangles in his hair and the irritating itch of unwashed skin. That would be rectified as of immediately, now that he was perfectly capable to walk freely and painlessly.<p>

'Ye need a bat',' Teuta said bluntly, only seconds later. As usual she was prepared, cradling a sponge, a block of soap and even a towel in her arms.

'Madam,' she made a face at the title, 'it appears once again you have read my mind.' James followed her through the shack. He realised she was lacking her usual bright disposition, which somehow managed to dampen the atmosphere entirely. As of yet, she had not shown a genuine smile; she was straight to the point. _She is acting more like you._ He hoped her mood was not influenced by his own nature.

Teuta did not have a bath. Not even a bucket. James found himself outside, surrounded with fresh, morning air, standing a few feet from ground level on a wooden porch. To find he had inhabited a tree house had not been expected. Teuta was already standing on the lower level, on a small jetty, constructed from various wooden planks. With surprising ease, he conquered the ladder which led down to the water's edge.

He had not expected to find similar shacks along the river banks, although the others which he could see were firmly planted on the ground. Many had lanterns hanging on the porches outside, providing an unnatural light at the early hour as well as the faint hues of sunlight which were reflecting on the river's surface. Where there were not rickety buildings there were trees, dense and wall-like. James was cautious that there may have been other people about or, worse still, carnivorous reptiles skulking along the banks.

Teuta directed him towards a shallow pool of water, somewhat to his dismay. He did not want to seem rude or snobbish, although some had said that he was, but bathing outside was too public, despite the fact he had become more open to other attitudes over the past few days.

'Sorry, but is there somewhere less…visible than here?'

His host folded her arms across her chest, with a raised brow. 'I don't plan on watchin',' she teased, before adding seriously, 'an' de villagers won't bother ye. Dey keep to demselves…most of de time.' James could not argue his side further; he had come to realise Teuta would not satisfy his wish to fight his corner, because she was normally right and would therefore win. She handed over the items in her hands and made to return to the higher level. 'I'll leave de door open.' The young woman clambered back up the ladder. James concluded, he had no other choice, so he may as well wash quickly and be done with it.

Water reminded him of a life beyond the river. A world where he had been a respected gentleman, a good man. He had always wanted a simple life - a good rank in the King's Navy, a wife, a family – but nothing could ever be simple where pirates were involved. _My father would be ashamed if he could see me now. Thank heavens he cannot. _

As expected, the river water was stone cold. Having stripped, he attempted to submerge himself gradually. But even foot deep on the slanted banks was enough to send a darting shiver right up to the hairs on his neck. 'Sweet Lord,' he cursed under his breath. How childish; that he could not even brave some icy water for a few minutes! Norrington regretted his sudden dive into the liquid abyss, as every fibre in his body turned rigid and, he could swear, an alarming shade of fuchsia. 'Bloody -!' Even his words froze in his throat. What he wouldn't give for a shower of hot water to rain down on him at that instant. Eventually, from his middle to his extremities, he became accustomed to the temperature and found the power to wash off the dirt from the past few days.

He ignored blemishes of past fights, some gained among the Navy, others gained from drunken scuffles in Tortuga, but among them one stood out, like a pirate among civilians. _The_ scar had left an angry mark, guiding James to be careful when he scrubbed his torso. He noted that his skin was paling, a mere shadow of his Tortuga tan remained since he had returned to wearing full uniform. He admitted he missed the freedom of not being bound to the strict mould of the Navy.

It was then that he wondered: would there be a job for him to return to? Would he return at all? If he was believed dead, he could hide away, start a new life. _Live here._ That was improbable and impossible. James knew he could not survive in a world so removed from British colonization. But he found himself doubting his ability to turn his back on Teuta. _You're not emotionally attached to her, man! _

He quickly dunked his head under the water and attempted to finger comb some of the knots from his shoulder length hair. It was near impossible; he would need a comb to accomplish that task. Norrington reached for the towel. He had hung it over an angled branch of one of the trees which held up the shack. His clothes were on the same branch. Once his upper half was dry he slipped the shirt on and clambered out of the water on to the jetty. The moment he had fastened his breeches, he grabbed his boots and the items Teuta had lent him and climbed the ladder to her home.

The main room was deserted. Maybe she was in the back room. That was empty too. The only other place she could be was upstairs, but James dared not go up there without permission. That would be downright rude. As he spread out the towel to dry, he realised the witch had left him a razor and comb. A minute smile came to his face at her precognitive abilities. She was a clever young woman, a trait he was finally beginning to appreciate.

x

James was halfway through shaving when the familiar groan of weighted floorboards alerted him of another presence. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes, to see Teuta standing in the doorway, framed by the tied back curtains. His hand paused at the sight of her.

'Err…I took the liberty of borrowing one of your bowls,' he said, pointing at the water-filled object below him. 'I hope you don't mind.'

'Not in de least,' she replied. Her eyes watched him with heightened interest, although James could not see what would be so captivating about a man shaving. He rinsed the razor in the water, then returned it to his jaw for another swipe. His focus turned back to the mirror in front of him. _Thank God. I finally look more respectable._ There was a comfort to looking like a gentleman, even if he was in this alien place.

'Admiral…' Teuta interrupted once more. He missed the serious tone in her voice. She was sat in her armchair, legs crossed and using the skirts of her dress to conceal her legs. James cleaned the blade of the razor for the last time, watching the metal glint in the light under the cloudy water. He stared at his own reflection for a while, letting out a long sigh.

'There is no need to use my title,' he began, hesitantly. He was opening up a door, which might have been the wrong way to go. 'If you insist that I call you by your forename, then I don't think it would be too bold of you to address me as James.' Teuta's lips parted and her eyebrows crept upwards in bewilderment, then settled into her more heart-warming smirk. This was the first time _he_ had been the one to catch _her_ off guard. However, the smile faded all too soon.

'I 'ave somet'in' t' tell ye,' she said. Her features were hard, darkened with anguish and determination. Whatever she was about to disclose, was probably the subject she had been brooding over before she vanished upstairs and an ominous suspicion began creeping into James' mind that the news could be nothing but bad. 'Der was a battle, out at sea, wid a ship called de _Endeavour_.'

James' eyes lit with rage. _Beckett. What has he done? If he has harmed-…I will kill him._

Teuta went on to tell James about how the pirates had waged war on the East India Trading Company, thinking they could win by releasing Calypso from her human form and asking for her favour. But Calypso would no longer be controlled by men and went her own way. The Brethren Court were left to face Jones and Beckett alone. But even without Calypso, Davy Jones and Beckett had fallen. He listened carefully through the speech, finding himself transfixed by the dramatics which had ensued since his death. He had had to take a seat, fearing that anything morbid may have bowled him down.

'Do ye know of William Turn-ah?'

James nodded slowly. Where that blacksmith-turned-pirate was involved anything was possible, but one thing for certain was that Elizabeth would be in close proximity.

'Him be de capt'n of de _Dutchman_ now.' Teuta had begun nudging crab claws about on the table, watching each like a cat with a mouse.

James was startled by the information, but more concerned with another matter. 'And what of Elizabeth? Elizabeth Swann?' He could not hide the desperation in his voice; to know she at least had survived would be a God send. Although, a selfish portion of him thought that if she had fallen to the sword of her enemies his death would have all been in vain.

'Elizabeth _Turn-ah_,' Teuta corrected, solemnly. Her eyes were shadowed by the thick curtain of her lashes, waiting for some sort of reaction to erupt from him. James could not find a voice, but his bottom lip trembled slightly giving away his upset. _So, she finally married him._ James surprised himself. Of course he felt some remorse – he had lost her completely now – but he realised just how distant they had become in the last few months. There was no chance of winning her love.

'Safe,' Teuta answered his initial question.

The news was better than James had expected. Not the perfect outcome, but at least those he cared about were safe (he dare not say alive, considering Turner's current predicament). He could at least be grateful that Elizabeth was with a man who had proved himself honourable. Even Jack had found a gallant streak, sacrificing immortality for friendship, and destroying the EITC's hold of the oceans. _Perhaps this proves it. Not all pirates are self-seeking wretches like my father believed. _The loose ends had been tied up, and the right side had one. But where did that leave James?


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer: **Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

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><p>Teuta could not discern her feelings. She was pleased her mother was free, but then that would mean she might never see her again. She was also glad James – it felt informal, yet natural to use his first name – had not realised her internal pain when she spoke; she did not want to disclose her personal troubles to him. <em>In time. Or sooner.<em> The sea – her mother - had told her many things that morning on the sandy shores of the Pantano's mouth. She felt engulfed, drowned; couldn't process it all. Teuta heaved a breath. It had been a _very_ long time since she had felt the desire to be hugged by her mother. Instability had arisen in her and, as a child, a comforting hug would have washed it all away. But not now.

_I shouldn't lie. _

Teuta had stopped distracting herself with crustacean exo-skeletons when James had left the room in search of a comb. There was no need to avoid him or his chartreuse stare any more. She could hear him next door, prising out the tangled sections of his brunette locks. She had been thinking about him on-and-off recently, beyond the matriarchal fashion she had had previously when tending to his wounds. She thought about how she might miss him when he left; for he surely would leave. He was fit to return to Port Royal now; go back to _his_ life.

A light cough came from behind her, as James re-entered. Teuta cocked her head, momentarily forgetting her worries, as she eyed up the handsome face before her. How different he looked, clean shaven and hair un-matted. His brunette tresses fell down to his shoulders, still shiny and damp. His jaw was defined, a more obvious attribute now that it was not peppered with stubble. His eyes were incandescent, no doubt because he felt more like himself after his ablutions. _Dis William Turn-ah must 'ave been somet'in' of a god for Elizabeth to choose 'im._ Then she reminded herself that it was not always dependent on the looks. But if it were judged purely on outward appearance, James would never have remained a single man for so long.

'What is that song you always hum?' he asked, apparently unaware of her wandering eyes.

Teuta was caught off guard; she hadn't even realised what she was doing. Nowadays she began to hum subconsciously and couldn't record when or where she did it. 'Somet'in' I learn as a child.' She smiled unconvincingly.

''Tis a dulcet tune,' he spoke with a thoughtfully distant gaze, as he was trying to recall the song. Maybe she would share it with him one day.

'It 'elps me t'ink.' She still was thinking – how much worse it would feel to not tell the whole truth. She did not want him to come to despise her, call her a liar. She let out a mournful sigh and pushed herself from her seat. 'James…' His name sounded perfect out loud and yet she was about to break his trust in her forever. 'I mus' tell ye dis now, an' pray ye don't come t' resent me.'

James passed her a look of concern, but his brow was also furrowed in confusion. Teuta willed herself not to keep up her pretences, despite how it might destroy whatever relationship there was between them.

'Der is sumt'in' more t' Davy Jones.'

'What?' He moved towards her, causing Teuta's breathing to quicken. She already felt the oncoming storm of his dark emotions and would have gladly run outside and submerged herself in the depths of the Pantano. Teuta sucked her bottom lip in to lick it.

''Im 'ave a child.' Her voice was steady, but her mouth was parted and quivering, like a child on the verge of tears. Green eyes narrowed and bored down on her. ''Im ave me.'

James wasn't quite sure what to think or say. He couldn't mentally articulate anything, let alone verbally voice his opinion. How could that be? That this creature was the daughter of that tyrant? _Impossible!_

'Am…' his words failed him, but he forced his voice to be heard, 'Am I to assume that your mother is the woman Jones carved his heart out for?' Teuta nodded, with a sympathetic gaze. She had no right to pity him.

Because of her mother. Jones had become what he was, because of _her_ mother. Jones' heart. That damned heart had brought about James' downfall.

Now it all made sense; her father being a sailor, but always absent. All this time, she had concealed her true self, while his life had been open to her magical powers like a book. At that moment, he could feel nothing but betrayal. It was as if Fate wished his woes with Elizabeth to be conjured up again, in the form of this native. Why had he dared to trust her?

'I swear everyt'in' else I 'ave said be true.' Her attempt at assuring him was lost. He should have learnt by now not to drop his emotional barriers, even by a fraction and especially in the presence of a woman. It always ended in tragedy for him. Always.

'And why should I believe you?' he hissed coldly, staring down the length of his nose at her. 'You are a liar. No better than Jones himself!' Her resolution to remain civil snapped at the heart-wrenching insult. She moved closer to fight her corner, wetting her lips and warning him of her oncoming outburst.

'I never judge ye, Admiral,' she snapped, her whole face darkened by her anger, her whole body trembling as she threatened to hit him. James felt a minute shiver of worry pass through his spine at the unsettling shade of stormy charcoal her eyes appeared to have become. 'I know 'ow ye 'and over de 'art to Beckett an' sail for 'im - de man who try t' control de Devil 'imself! Ye betray everyt'in' an' everyone for yer precious commission! An' even den, I raise ye from de dead, 'cause I know ye an 'onourable man 'spite yer faults. Ye would scorn me widout good reason? Do not vex me, James Norrington! Ye know not what I am capable of!'

Her menacing words shook him, enough to force him to return a physical void between them. Teuta unclenched her fists and, luckily for James, kept her arms by her sides, rather than deal a blow to his face, like a catty woman might have done. Her rattled form stilled and her ferocious eyes calmed. Rather than release her pent up frustration on him, she rushed from the shack, scattering objects and slamming the door in her wake.

James suddenly found himself at a loss; duplicity was being replaced with guilt and rationality. Coherent thought gradually reinstated itself in his mind and the mistake he had just made dawned on him. He could not recall the last time he had been so vile to someone, except Sparrow of course. Teuta may have been the surviving remnant of Davy Jones, but that did not automatically make her her father's daughter. _You fool, James. You blasted fool._

He did not follow her; that would not help the situation. James used the time to contemplate what he might say. Apologize, yes; not for his own upset, but certainly for his uncouth behaviour towards Teuta. In no way did he want to make an enemy of this woman – she was wonderfully unpredictable – and he would – if he did not lose his tongue- try to tell her such.

_Should I trace her steps or await her return?_

He knew that if he were to attempt the former, he would most likely lose his way, as he knew nothing of the surrounding forest and river beyond the boundaries of the shack. Then again, this wasn't his home; it felt awkward – inappropriate - to be here when Teuta was not. Norrington settled on braving the unknown; the fresh air would do him good, rather than the steamy, constricting atmosphere of the shack. He walked towards the front door, avoiding the scattered detritus the witch had left, not daring to touch any of it in case she saw it as a further excuse to verbally attack him – or worse.

James expected that some of the villagers may have gathered outside to eavesdrop on the row, after all, there were shacks only a few metres away, but when he heaved open the door there was no one watching. _It's as if no one else inhabits this place._ _A ghost town._ _Although, thank heavens I don't have to explain myself to any neighbours._ He strode on to the porch, his lungs heaving as he filled them with the damp air of the forest. How serene the outside world was in comparison to the riled nature of his host, and himself for that matter. James took the small journey down to the jetty and stood by the water's edge.

As he stared at his reflection in the mirror of the river's surface, his mind wandered back to the outside world. It was a peculiar thing; being alive when everyone else believed him dead. Even more peculiar that he could only thank one person for his current predicament, and he had just pushed that same person away. Or so he thought.

James looked up and down river, surveying for any signs of life, which might point him in the right direction. It was then, with his keen sight, that he spotted the familiar form of the witch. She was sat on the bank, her toes just tickling the cold water and her hand skittering over the shallows, like it had done when close to his wound. She either had not noticed him or did not want to notice him, with the former being the less likely. He pursued her anyway; this time he could safely say it was not for an idealistic love affair, but for an unalloyed reconciliation.

He left his boots on the jetty – they were hardy leather and the last thing he wanted was to drown them in water – and set off along the muddy, yet stable, edge of the Pantano. The closer he became, the more he noticed that she was completely unresponsive, except for faint breathing as her chest rose and fell. Her eyes were closed, her head resting on her knees which were drawn up to her chin. She was sleeping, and if not that daydreaming. _A full blown argument occurred mere hours ago and she has managed to doze off?_

It was impossible to be unobtrusive when stirring someone from their sleep, but against his better judgement James made his presence known by quietly clearing his throat. In a style reminiscent of his regimental days, he clasped his hands behind his back and waited patiently. Teuta twisted her head in his direction, with a wave of tumbling dreadlocks, revealing the smooth arch of her right shoulder and neck; brown, glowing skin, so close he could almost touch it. She passed him a dazed look, but showed no remnants of animosity in her dark pools. Her expression appeared dispassionate, although irritation was pinching the edge of her lips tightly together.

James felt the same palpable tension as he had that fateful day he proposed to Elizabeth; but this time he knew he would not stumble over his words, like a school boy out of his depth in the realms of relationships.

'I have come to offer a hand of apology,' he began with steadfast conviction. 'My conduct was completely inappropriate,' he paused, 'you were right and I am very sorry.'

Teuta's lips relaxed and turned upwards, in a rather humorous smile. She withdrew her hand from the water and wiped it on the hem of her skirts. 'Yer forgiven,' her eyes showed the deeper meaning her voice did not convey. She didn't need to voice her own apology; not for him. For her to accept his was enough to raise his spirits, even by a fraction. He was sympathetic, understanding even, of her circumstances. Davy Jones could hardly be called an exemplary father, but Teuta had still lost him and would need time to mourn his passing.

'Enough of dis,' she said gently, patting the space beside her. 'Come, sit. An' tell me of dis Elizabet' Turn-ah.'


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer: **Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

* * *

><p>He had felt clumsy sitting on the ground, something he had not done casually since boyhood, and it showed as he struggled to find a comfortable position. <em>I am only tolerating this arrangement because she asked. <em>The subtle smirk tugging at the corner of Teuta's lips had broadened as she watched him, to his embarrassment. Eventually he had settled on sitting with one leg outstretched and the other bent, leaning on it with his elbow. He was unsure at first how to describe his past love; he would not talk of her in spite. That would be unfair and painted a tawdry picture of her. Then again, he could not amplify all of her reputable qualities either, because even he had know come to realise Miss Swann – _Mrs_ Turner - was not faultless.

'I knew Missus Turner since she was twelve years of age.' He began his story sequentially, diplomatically, the way he always spoke. He told himself then that he would be completely honest; Teuta had emotionally exposed herself, the very least he could do was be truthful. 'She and her father, the late Governor Swann, were crossing from England to Port Royal. He was to become to governor of the British colony there. She had the graces befitting a lady even then, but she was spoilt and outspoken.'

Teuta giggled, muffling the sound with a hand clasped over her mouth. 'Many girls are, Admiral.'

'I cannot imagine that _you_ would have been candid in childhood,' he responded genuinely, looking Teuta directly in the eye. Her cheeks began to blossom, a very becoming shade of warm pink, and her hand now moved to hide her blush. James hurriedly looked away, clearing his throat and finding an interesting ripple in the water to focus on. 'Sorry, I have digressed. It was not until she reached the cusp of adulthood that I began to take a romantic interest in her,' he was reverent as he continued; something he could never hide when referring to _her_. 'At eighteen she had become a fine young woman; not only attractive to look at, but pleasant company to be with. She was stunning, the epitome of what every worthy lady should aspire to be, but she had an alluring sense about her, which she used to her advantage on numerous occasions. Two years later I proposed to her, on the day of my promotion ceremony.'

'Ye love 'er?' The question was abrupt and caught Norrington off guard. _Yes. Yes. Yes I do. No. Past tense. Did._

'Yes,' he replied, experimentally testing the water with his foot. It did not feel as frozen as before. Perhaps his body was becoming accustomed to the climate. 'I lov_ed_ her unquestioningly.'

'But she did not love ye back.' This time it was not a question; nothing more than fact. The unrequited love was conspicuous to the clairvoyance of the witch. She had solved him like a puzzle, even before he had given her the pieces to arrange.

'Unfortunately not. But that did not prevent me from giving up everything for her in my final hours.'

'T' sacrifice yerself for de ones ye love…'Tis a noble t'ing.' James felt his heart soar with pride at the comment, then reminded himself that was not proper conduct and tried to formulate a more humble answer.

Rather than a long speech he simply said, 'Thank you.' He felt better for it; talking in confidence with someone who would never arbiter his actions.

Teuta was staring off into a distant and shadowed area of the forest. Her gaze was fixed, predatory, her brow knitted. Then as quickly as she appeared discontent she passed him a beam. _Ah, that smile. 'Tis a pleasure to see it return._

'Are ye 'ungry?'

James' stomach grumbled quietly in response and he clasped a hand to his abdomen to silence it. 'Rather. I do believe our feud brought an abrupt halt to any breakfast plans.' Teuta laughed; a charming, sparkling laugh which was not grating on the ears. Her joy made James long for something similar; but unbounded joy still felt like a distant memory or a notion he might have read in a book.

The young woman rose to her feet, without stumbling on the dirt beneath her and brushing down her skirts with both hands. The moment she was at her full height the intimacy between them was broken. James did not linger on the ground and once standing, followed Teuta back towards the shack.

As they walked, he could sense eyes tracing his path, from every corner of the forest. Shadows were moving, leaves rustling, an unsettling feeling when he was not accustomed to it.

'Dat jus' be de villagers,' Teuta explained. 'Dey 'armless.'

James was comforted by her words, however, ignoring the examining gazes of the natives was easier said than done. A pressure was crushing his chest; he could tell they were sceptical of his presence and it made him feel uneasy. This was their home and they did not want him in it. He instead focused his attention on Teuta. She was within arm's reach. He imagined holding her hand, fitting her small palm into his larger one. He dreamed how warm she would be; her radiance warming his insides, like the sun kissing his skin out at sea. Eventually he might find the courage to express his fondness of the young woman; but he was not sure his heart could stand to be torn apart for a second time and so soon.

x

Being back inside the shack reignited the closeness and the privacy which had been so lacking while outside in view of the villagers. Having become accustomed to being in Teuta's company, and only her company, James found himself continuously wanting to be beside her. _This place felt so odd at first and now it is almost…homely. _Especially when she offered him tea, once they had eaten, and this time it was tea, not the concoction she had used to knock him out previously. _A marvellous hostess indeed. But I have nothing to repay her with when I leave. _James did not want to meditate on the subject for long and instead allowed his thoughts to wander back and muse over Teuta, something else which had become less strange as more time had passed.

'You still appear distracted,' he said frankly, but without giving her the impression he was being intrusive. It came across as more of a friendly observation. She had just sat at the table with him, setting down a boiling cup of tea for herself.

She shook her head distantly, clasping her hands about the drink and, as if she were talking to herself, responded, ''Tis nuttin' ye should concern yerself wid.' Her smile was counterfeit, put on to mask herself. The witch had become more cloaked than usual the past few days; James would have taken no heed previously, but now he could not stand to see her in such a stupor. She was about to rise from her seat, to busy herself – or rather to escape the conversation.

'I may be overstepping the boundaries by voicing my own opinion,' his voice delayed her departure, 'but I cannot help but notice how distracted you have been of late.' Teuta had paused, mid-rise from the chair, but sank back down, opening up the floor for whatever he intended to ask. 'What has been troubling you?' He was using the gentle approach, as she had done outside. If she responded with assertions that she was mourning Davy Jones' death he would leave her be, but if some other misfortune had shook her then he hoped that talking to her might alleviate it.

''Tis…' her fingers toyed with a crab claw, 'my Mamma.'

'Surely she has not become embroiled in this mess also?'

'Yes, but dat is not what trouble me.'

'Please,' James did not want to sound as if he was begging, but he feared a hint of pleading had come through in that one word. James faltered; changed the sentence he had planned to say. 'You have taught me that voicing the matters which suffocate a person, is far better than locking them away.' Teuta's eyes narrowed, as she looked at him, perhaps canvassing him for ulterior motives. However, she rolled her lips together and responded demurely.

'I do not want t' become 'er.'

His brow furrowed in utter confusion. 'I do not understand.' Teuta's hand continued to push the claw about, as if she were foretelling the future.

'She broke de 'art an' soul of de man who love 'er; who _she_ love,' she stared at him now, with a penetrating, yet agitated gaze. James had a suspicious feeling he would not enjoy the tone of the conversation which followed. ''Er nature attract 'im, den destroy 'im.'

He was trying to make sense of her, but even now she had him stumped. _Jones for a father and a volatile woman for a mother. What unfortunate circumstances for one so…_ James did not dare finish his own thought, scared of the truths it would reveal to him. Teuta muttered something incoherently. 'Excuse me?'

He then became very aware that there was something nudging his hand which rested against the table. He glanced down, expecting to find Teuta had pushed the claw too far and it hand scuttled across to him. However, the _fingers_ which were by his own were warm, narrow and belonged to his hostess. Teuta's digits stroked his hand soothingly, a stark contrast to how she must have felt.

'I would not 'ave de same fate 'appen t' you.' Her hand unexpectedly receded, as did she when she left the table.

James started. His heart sung. To know his feelings were reciprocated was an uncontrollable relief. No, joy! But all too soon that ecstasy subsided, when he realised nothing could be done with said feelings when Teuta was so uncertain. Now it finally made sense; to let a relationship unfold might end in the same travesty as her parents. Her trepidation was understandable, but James refused to entertain such a notion. With a courage he had never had with women, except when he was drunk, Norrington left his seat and stopped his hostess in her tracks.

His hands caught her shoulders, in a strong yet not discomforting grasp. Her mouth was agape as if to protest, but James spoke up first. 'Believe me, there is no possibility that a creature as _gracious_ as yourself could ever break the heart of a man.'

x

Teuta stood shocked, staring like a terrified animal into James' viridian eyes. She could not recall ever hearing such determination or passion from him, or ever seeing his eyes so focused yet overflowing with emotion; finally, something had inspired him. She could not turn or move away, when his touch on her arms felt so normal. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in his embrace.

His assuredness managed to sate her uncertainty and she welcomed the return of her usual boldness. She paced her breathing, weighing up her options. _Dis man surprise me, even now._

The firm hands at her shoulder began to sink away, but Teuta knew she would not let this opportunity slip. She smiled at James, believing his words, her heart warmed. He returned her beam, the edges of his mouth tweaking upwards, appearing comforted by her. His hands now lingered, lower at her forearms.

She grasped his brunette locks, with as much steadfast conviction as he had shown, and without another hesitation guided his mouth down to hers.


	9. Chapter 9

__**Disclaimer: **Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'.__

_A 'T' rated chapter? Decidedly not. 'M' from this moment onwards, deary._

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><p>James was made inanimate by a state of shock for all of half a second, until he relaxed into the intimate contact. His determination had lapsed momentarily, causing him to stumble in his return of the kiss. Then he realised that there was no need to repress his emotions any longer and responded with equal fervour. His hands released her arms; one snaked round to find her hip, the other traced a path up to the curve of her jaw, the shell of her ear, eventually weaving its way into the thick dreads of her hair. They were softer than expected and the hand clenched them with a will of its own. He tugged Teuta's body closer, willing it to be flush against his.<p>

Teuta gratified his wish, leaning into him, while smiling against his lips at his new found forwardness. His tongue ran experimentally along her bottom lip and instantly she lowered it, allowing his intrusion. James tongue mapped out every crevice of her mouth; he intended to charter her whole body, if she let him. Determined as he was to have her, in every sense of the word, he would never do anything that she did not want to do.

They were forced to part, each of them panting desperately to refill their lungs. Their lips may have separated, but James did not relinquish his grasp on her side, absorbing the almost tangible heat radiating off her.

'Teuta…' His voice was no more than a ragged breath.

It was the first time he had used her name; she couldn't help but kiss him again on that fact alone. Coherent thought betrayed him once more at the touch of her mouth against his, even if the second kiss was shorter than the first. James groaned. He wanted more, needed more, needed to touch all of her.

As she drew back, he turned her in his arms, pushing her against the table. His lips claimed hers, his hands caressed the arch of her neck and shoulders, excited by the softness of her skin. Teuta tilted her head, exposing more for him to explore, as her hair tumbled from her shoulder to her back, wrapping her arms about James' neck to support herself. The multiple sensations overwhelmed her, caused her to moan at the slightest touch. She could never have imagined one man could evoke such reactions from her.

James stopped suddenly; forcing himself away. He shook his head slightly, to Teuta's confusion. Her grip on him loosened and one of her hands moved to his face, the pads of her fingers tenderly smoothing the curve of his cheek.

'What trouble ye?' she asked, words paced by her heavy breathing, but laced with sincerity all the same.

'I would not have you on a table, like a common harlot,' he responded, passing a quick glance at the room. 'You deserve better,' he then added, his green eyes focused on her. _Only her._

Teuta's mouth curved upwards into an alluring smile, as she took hold of his hand in hers. Her fingers weaved through his – her hand did fit perfectly into his, as he had hoped – and led him to the stairs in the back room. She paused in front of him, standing on the first step, her eyes now level with his.

'Ye come t' _my _bed, Admiral Norrington.' This time his title was said low, teasingly. Tempting.

Upstairs was almost an alternate reality to downstairs. It was uncluttered; completely bare except for furniture and some dresses which were yet to be stored away. James did not have much time to muse on the unknown room. Besides, it was the least of the cares.

Teuta pulled him to her by the fabric of his shirt, reacquainting herself with his lips, parting her own for his curious tongue. It soon became obvious kissing was not enough; they had a mutual need to feel the other's bare skin against their own. James rasped his hips against hers, grunting at the friction and clutching her waist to hold her against him.

Her hands, which had so quickly buttoned up his shirt on their first meeting, now moved to unfasten it. James could not hide the groan of chagrin, when her hands came dangerously close to the waistband of his breeches. The glint her eye proved she was toying with him and Teuta would no longer suppress her natural trait of seduction to prevent otherwise.

James was reluctant to let the garment slip from his arms. _What if she is repulsed by my body?_ The smile he felt against his lips answered his question and Teuta removed the shirt instead. She had seen it all before while treating him, but this time, rather than working methodically, her hand traced the marks with skittering, delicate fingers, as if she feared she might pain him by touching them. His lightly tanned skin trembled under her palm, his muscles flexing in response to her attention. She had no idea of the sensations she was causing to flood over him.

It had been a long time since he had had physical contact with a woman, not since Tortuga. On most of those occasions he had not even been sober. In complete clarity, his body was going mad. _She_ was driving his nerves into a frenzy. He needed more than this. But before he tore her clothes from her body…

'It may be too late to ask,' he whispered, his grasp sinking to the small of her back, holding her just there, 'but are you sure you want this? Are you certain you want _me_?' He was could hardly convince himself that he would be able to stop now.

Teuta giggled quietly, knotting her hands into his hair and staring at him with her onyx pupils. She needed him as much as he needed her. 'Yes,' she breathed, silencing any further words between them. He poured all of his affection into the kiss, acting less forcibly than before. He wanted her to know how much he cared.

Even as he loosened the ties of her dress, placing more soothing kisses on her reddened lips, he stayed himself to not act the drunken brute he had once been. Her clothing was – thankfully - not as complex as those worn by the women of Tortuga. _Or maybe you were just too drunk to see your own digits!_ The dress was soon only held up by her body, resting on the prominent curves of her breasts. Teuta wriggled her hips and the offensive garment slid from her form, pooling about her ankles in thick, burgundy waves. She instantly turned static in his arms.

_Surely, she is not…shy?_ Then it occurred to him that she may have changed her mind on the situation altogether.

Teuta regretted nothing as of yet; quite the opposite. But a streak of unease passed down her spine, as she suddenly doubted whether she was good enough for James. The unease was soon chased away when a new sensation tickled her spine; a soothing hand following the curve of her back, as if tracing a path. She let out a quiet whimper and pressed her naked upper half flat against James'.

The other hand went further down, finding its way to a curved thigh. All of her was so soft, delicate in comparison to the callused patches of his hands. He revelled in the contact, excited further by what was to come. With a firm grasp on her person, James lifted Teuta from the floor, kicked the dress aside to avoid an accident and set her back down.

Encouraged to continue, Teuta stepped backwards, instructing James to follow with a tug of his breeches. Her bare calves knocked the edge of the bed and she instinctively sank down, until she was shadowed by James taller figure over hers. Before she was lying down, James reluctantly pulled away completely.

He took a moment to admire her. The ample breasts which would make many men turn their heads and make women jealous; the accented curvature of her back which pushed out her stomach and narrow waist; the wide curve of her thighs and the length of her smooth legs, one of which was modestly crossed over the other. He smiled at how lucky he was, then returned his thoughts to the task at hand and deprived himself of the remainder of his clothes.

Dark eyes scrutinized him, as Teuta nibbled her tender bottom lip. The heat between her legs grew at the sight of his lean form; skin tinted with the sun's kiss, a chest shadowed by hair and a torso almost decorated with a scattering of healed wounds. Her gaze went lower – she almost bit down too hard on her mouth – and a licentious smirk came to her features; one which pulled James in, as she lay back.

Teuta settled underneath him, the pressure of his body against hers unfamiliar, and watched him. Driven lips, accompanied by warm breath, found her ear, worked down to her jaw and lower still to the hollow of her throat. James' hands roamed where his mouth did not, tracing the outlines of her body, memorizing it.

He dared his tongue to lap at her skin; she tasted faintly of salt, as if she had just swum through the ocean. James guided a hand down to her hip, rubbing the protruding bone with his thumb, then stroking it up her inner thigh. The edge of his mouth tuned up into a smile against Teuta's skin, as he heard her breath quicken. He withdrew his hand, teasingly, earning a groan of frustration from the young woman.

Teuta clutched a handful of his hair, crushing his lips against hers. The kiss was hungry and desperate, but James felt a sudden need to be gentle. Clearly she felt it too, as she eased her grip and instead held on to his shoulders steadying herself for whatever was to come. James nudged her legs apart, holding himself above her. He waited, his green eyes asking a silent question to which Teuta responded with a small nod.

James entered her gradually, but not gradual enough. Her breath hitched, the grip on his arms bit down and she whimpered in discomfort. _You. Fool. She is no Tortuga strumpet. _He kissed her tenderly, stroked her hair, hoping the pain would ease, while rebuking himself for being so careless. Teuta was grateful the pain did not last for long and moved her hips upwards to meet his.

He moved carefully the second time, finding a steady pace. Teuta allowed her body to act wantonly, moving against him, forgetting any and all inhibitions. Her body knew how to respond to this new rhythm. Arm muscles contracted and relaxed under her grip, lips and teeth scraped against her chest, throat, jaw. Words were lost between them; it was all primal. James abandoned his tentative pace, thrusting harder and appreciating how the body below him pushed against his.

Her teeth nipped at his bottom lip, her hold on him tightened once more. He was _so_ deep inside her. Teuta could not restrain the heat deliciously burning her insides. She cried out, neck arched. Her muscles clenched, bringing James into his own release. Every dim light in the room turned ten times as bright, exploding before him, as he swore out loud. He collapsed beside her, chest heaving in time with her own.

Eventually, they both turned to each other. James weaved his hand into Teuta's hair, his thumb stroking her temple. She gave him a smile of contentment, took the hand and kissed the palm. There was something cat-like in the way she nuzzled his hand, watching him, wanting him. James was more than happy to comply.


	10. Chapter 10

__**Disclaimer: **Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'.__

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><p>James knew the moment he woke with Teuta by his side that he wanted to find her in his bed every morning. She was smiling in her sleep, the smallest upward turn of the edge of her mouth. One hand rested under her head, the other was clasped under his, smooth and warm. Her breathing was inaudible, but he could feel the minute rise and fall of her chest against his. That fragrance which had captivated him from the start, a floral and sweet scent reminiscent of mangos, permeated his senses. Not even the smudged kohl about her eyes could detract from her features.<p>

As pleasant as it all was, James could not help feel that it would not last. There was a lingering and pestering voice in his mind that kept reminding him this was not his home and eventually something would force them to part.

He wanted to stroke her cheek and kiss her brow, but did not lest he disturb her from whatever dreams held her in such a calm state. However, even as he held back a display of affection, the narrow fingers caged by his began to fidget.

Teuta stretched, arching and letting out a moan of protest as she woke. She opened her eyes partially, glancing at the Admiral in a dreamy haze and then blinking to focus them. She decided that comfort was more important than clear eyesight and curled up against James' chest, relishing the warmth his body gave out. Never had she felt so secure in her own bed.

'Good morning,' James whispered, smoothing her hair.

'Mornin'.'

There was no chill in the air, signalling that if it was the morning it was not early. It was not surprising; neither of them had fallen asleep until the small hours of the morning, when the fireflies took over the forest and the moon made the trees shine with a candescent glow.

James sighed; something was plaguing him from the day before. 'You should have…warned me that you were still a maiden.' Teuta moved a hand, pressing it lightly to his chest and concentrating on how the fine hairs stood to attention at the contact.

'Would ye 'ave felt bett-ah if I 'ad?'

'It…I might have hurt you less, if you had.'

Teuta chuckled quietly, nestling her head against his shoulder. 'It would 'urt if I tell ye or not.' Teuta had vowed not to be as promiscuous as her mother; it was the one thing she hated about her. It angered Teuta that her mother would give herself freely to different men, when she had always told Teuta that she loved Davy Jones. 'I 'old nuttin' 'gainst ye.'

Only half convinced, James planted a firm kiss to her forehead and wrapped an arm about her waist. This time he sighed contentedly, forgetting all his thoughts for a moment at the feel of the length of her naked body held against his. _It cannot last like this forever._ He stiffened at the idea and Teuta felt it; she pulled away and stared James in the eye. Her gaze was no longer hazy with sleep, it was worried and questioning.

'Yer always vexed by yer t'oughts,' she said mournfully, as if she had taken on his heartache.

'You would be too if you had lived a life such as mine,' he responded bluntly, finding himself turning bitter at the instant memories which flooded back to him. _Just voice your opinion, man._ His lip trembled, as he formulated his words. 'I err…think we should discuss what will happen between us. If we intend to develop this into something more…'

Teuta sat up a little, now looking down at James, resting her head on her hand and leaning on her elbow. 'Ye do not want it to?'

'No, no,' he replied quickly, then let out a heavy breath and rolled on to his back to stare at the angled, wooden ceiling. _Oh, hang it all!_ James ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, desperately trying to voice his words without offending Teuta. 'What I mean to say is…This is not my home. There may be feelings between us – I want this progress, as much as you – but society would not accept relations between a mixed couple. Here, the villagers see me as little more than an intruder or a threat and beyond the river you would be brandished a slave. I just cannot foresee a future where this can work.'

Teuta looked crestfallen and James instantly felt his heart break at the sight of her. He had never wanted to upset her, but in all honestly when dealing with such a fragile subject it could not be helped. He knew she was a smart, reasonable woman; she would understand. _I hope she does, or I may have just unleashed the fury she displayed before. _Gradually the expression changed, having overcome her initial reaction to his speech, to one of thought. James could not discern what she might have been thinking, or even plotting for that matter.

'De villagers pry where dey should not,' she said, subtly trying to convince him that his reasoning was flawed. She knew this was not James' home, she had anticipated this very conversation. However much turmoil there had been in his past, something would always call him home. _'Is so called "society" is all wrong. An' so are de people 'ere._ She breathed heavily. 'Do ye wish to return to Port Royal?'

James felt his throat constrict; one subject he had been trying to avoid and now it had been approached. He did not want to say. Part of him would now stay – for _her_. Another wanted to return to civilization; Port Royal was his home, a replica of his distant England. He could never abandon it and forget about that life completely. 'You have caught me in an unyielding problem, Teuta. I cannot answer that question.'

That may have been so, but Teuta could see the longing in his eyes. He could not stay here, when he had established so much in that British Colony. She would not beg him; to dissuade him otherwise. In all honesty, she had never planned on the series of events unfolding as they had. And now, to keep him for herself would be selfish. If she honestly cared, she would not ensnare him in a world which would slowly destroy him.

Rather than making an outburst of the angry or disconcerted form, she asked, 'Den what shall we do?' James was caught out and stared at Teuta with a blank face. He had not expected that he would have to answer another question. The young woman leaned over him, her hair falling about her face. 'Part now? Stay for de meantime?' Her lips curved into a melancholy smile, which James returned.

'If the Navy has taught me one thing,' he forced himself up, putting his weight on his forearms, 'it is to always seize an opportunity when it arises.' The smile on her face spread further, etching dimples into her cheeks. She moved in and captured his lips with hers, knowing full well it would be the first of their last.

x

Teuta stood waist deep in the Pantano, the still waters silkily clutching at her sides. The thick mud of the river bed stuck to her toes, glued her to the earth. She had lost track of how long she had been outside; listening as she had always done, musing on what had passed and what was yet to come. She sank lower, until she was completely submerged. The water tugged at her hair, splaying it all directions. Smudges of black kohl dissolved into its abyss. Its freshness pinched at her skin. For a while she crouched under the surface, sentient, as if she was waiting for a signal to move. Eventually she did, wading over to the jetty and using the wood as a lever to haul herself from the river.

She scurried up the rickety ladder, dripping large pools of water in her wake across the porch and main room of the shack. She hadn't taken a towel outside with her, neither had she taken a dress to change into. The breeze that passed in her movement nipped at the water on her skin and caused a chill to run down her body.

Teuta was about to rummage for a towel in the organised mess of the back room, when her eyes landed on the crab claws which were scattered over the surface of the table. There were occasions, like now, where she felt the beckoning need to read them and on all those occasions something paramount had been revealed. She abandoned the towel search, forgetting the growing chill in her flesh, and shuffled over the table, sank into the chair and scooped up the claws in both hands.

She whispered a chant over them, a mixture of Patois and Creole, then thrust them across the table and watched intently. They scattered in all directions, rattling emptily like a dying man's breath. Finally, they settled.

'I was beginning to question where you-...'

Teuta looked round at the deep, familiar voice and could not control her smile. James words had come to a halt, when he realised she was sat completely naked and had quickly averted his eyes to an interesting jar hanging from the ceiling. It was as if their engagement last night had been erased from his memory.

At first James had been nothing more than shocked at her lack of attire; being so used to over-dressed English women. But that idea soon faded and now it was a case of doing all he could not to let his gaze slip below her shoulders...or waist. He did not want to sound cliché, but she was beautiful; even more so now than last night. He had never seen her without Kohl encaging her eyes; her face looked brighter, even more youthful than before.

Teuta crossed one leg modestly over the other. 'Der be a cargo ship sailin' pas' 'ere early t'morrow,' she explained, passing a quick glance to the shells to indicate her reading. 'It will dock at Port Royal.'

A passage home was a prospect James could not deny he had been longing for, but his happiness was bitter sweet. The enlightenment of Teuta's readings also brought with them a cold, hard fact: he had only a few more hours left to spend with her.

'Ye mus' be on dat ship,' she added sternly.

'Why _must_ I?' He had no control on the flare of anger in his voice. Teuta did not wish to start an argument; to part on bad terms would be a lifelong curse.

'Yer needed in Port Royal. Wid Beckett an' Gov'ner Swann passed on, der be no one else but ye t' take control. Would ye 'ave yer 'ome fall into turmoil?' Her words were truthful, but it was her piercing gaze which brought James to his senses.

He approached with his brow cocked in curiosity. 'You would put the demands of Port Royal before your own wishes?' Her selflessness was endearing.

'No,' Teuta shook her head, 'I put you b'fore my wishes. Ye were destined t' return eventually.' Fate and Destiny must have had a vendetta against James; they always wanted to drive a stake through his heart. But he was nevertheless flattered by the high regard Teuta clearly held him in. As she rose from her seat, he enveloped her in a hug. Teuta laid her head against his chest and James rested his chin on the crown of her head.

'Do not interpret this as ungratefulness, but how are you always so certain of the future?'

Teuta looked up at the Admiral. 'My Mamma show me 'ow.'

'And she is a witch like yourself?'

A mischievous smirk came to Teuta's face and her eyes sparkled with mystery. 'An' de sea.' She pulled away from James, who had fallen under a perplexed silence, and scuttled through the beaded curtains, supporting her bust with an arm. James footsteps followed her slowly.

'That makes no sense,' he frowned, watching Teuta fumble to find a towel, as the chill in her bones grew. 'The sea is inanimate.' The witch gave up searching through the drawers of the back room and instead wrapped the sheet from the bed about her person as a makeshift robe.

'Come now,' her hands planted themselves on her waist. 'De sea is full of life – an' not jus' wid fish an' tings dat look like dem. My Mamma is de goddess of all dat. Men know 'er as Calypso an' 'ere she is Tia Dalma.' The information did not sound as absurd as it should have done.

_Not only the child of the previously immortal Davy Jones, but also a heathen goddess. She is more powerful than I first thought. _James could have asked many things at that moment – How did a goddess fall in love with a monster like Jones? Is that how you have such clear visions of the affairs at sea? What does that make you? – but rather selfishly he instead followed her sentence with: 'How old does that make you?' _Dear Lord, I have lost all my manners! It is undignified to ask a lady her age!_

'''Ow old is de sea?'

'_That_ is not an answer.' James was not an advocate of riddles. He preferred his answers plain and simple. _She knows how to test me at times, that is certain._ Teuta grinned, the tip of her pink tongue poking out between her teeth. It was almost daring him to kiss her.

'But ye still know what I mean. Now,' she walked to the base of the stairs, being careful not to trip on the dragging edge of the sheet, 'ye will need ye uniform back.'


	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimer:** Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

_Apologies__ for not adding to this story for yonks! What with exams and going on holiday I haven't had much time to get anything down. I hope all you followers have been patient with me :)_

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><p>When Teuta – who was now fully clothed and less of a distraction for James – produced the perfectly crisp uniform from the armoire in her room, it was as if it was someone else's. Norrington had long since forgotten about his uniform since he had been here, having become accustomed to his casual attire of a shirt and breeches. The navy and gold garments seemed too formal for his surroundings. But there was a more disheartening feeling about the sight of his clothing; it was like a memorandum, a list, of everything he had done wrong<p>

Teuta handed it over to him, and then returned to the wardrobe. She crouched down and reached into the shadows, pulling out his tricorne hat. It was in pristine condition, even though he had apparently been drifting through the sea before he reached the Pantano.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, with the hat resting in her lap, Teuta watched James don his uniform. The moment he had pulled on the navy coat, which sported the gold cuffs and broad lapels found on all Admirals' uniforms, the witch passed him his hat. The look he gave the item was one of resolute contempt. Teuta had given it to him upside down and in it he found the dark, silk ribbon which usually accompanied his powdered wig. Instead he used it to secure his natural hair, before placing his hat squarely on his crown.

Teuta's heart practically punched her ribcage with an excited beat at the site of him. 'Very 'andsome, Admiral,' she purred, although she dare say she would gladly divest him off all the garments he had just put on.

James felt comfortable in his uniform; he had become so accustomed to it, it had almost become a second skin, but at the same time it made him want to itch and pull at the fabric. ''Tis a shame it could not mark a happier occasion.' His sadness radiated on to Teuta and all her wanton thoughts dissipated for the meantime. She rose from her seat and glided over to the Admiral.

'Bett-ah dan ye t'ink,' she said, gliding a hand up the fabric of his left sleeve. 'Ye get yer life back.' She wasn't looking at him, she was following the path her hand was taking. It played with the golden thread of his epaulettes and then the tie about his neck. 'B'sides, ye should not dwell on what mus' be an' what ye cannot change.' Norrington clasped her wandering hand in his, a desperate constriction in his grasp stopping her movement but not firm enough to hurt her. It was as if he was afraid he might lose her that very second.

'And I suppose you will advise me to make the most of the time we have left in each other's company?'

Libidinous thoughts began spinning through Teuta's mind once more. No one had ever made her react the way a few words from James could. She avoided her minds musings on what she would do when she had the shack all to herself again; it was obvious it would not be the same. She had shown a selfless front to James, but, honestly, part of her was screaming to beg him to stay with her.

Teuta nodded silently, as James leaned in, his eyes now a similar colour to the green shades of the sea. A boyish smirk turned his lips upwards.

'Then I shall not need to model my uniform any longer.'

x

The cold glow of dawn illuminated the path towards the coast of the island. The ground was decorated with a criss-cross of shadows and light. Teuta and James kept to the river bank, the witch pointing out any contorted roots or uneven ground that threatened to slip them up. Besides the occasional rustle of the plants which brushed against their clothes, the forest was silent. Under other circumstances, James would have seen this as an abnormality, but with Teuta calm so was he. However, her serenity carried with it a dense air of misery, an immutable emotion of course, considering their current journey. James' mind wandered for a moment, journeying back to a few hours prior.

_She was beside him. A forlorn smile graced her lips. 'Could ye spend an eternity wid me?' Her voice had been nothing more than a whisper. A musing. But her eyes stared straight into his, as if she did not mean the question in the metaphorical sense._

_'Yes,' he had replied with hidden conviction._

That wish was the impossible and improbable. James dismissed it, literally shaking the thought from his mind and refocusing the trek at hand. The sunlight was brightening. The forest thinning out. They were close to the beach now. He could smell the familiar salty breeze, a scent which he had near forgotten about since his death. It would be dreamlike to look upon the open waters.

Surreal it was when he finally felt the sand crunch under his boot. The sea was dark, unlit and a grey-blue in colour. One spear of fiery light reflected across it from the sun which peeked out over the horizon. The ripples were calm, not yet grown into waves. When he had been on ships constantly James had not paid much heed to the visual beauty of the sea. But now, having been parted from it, he could finally appreciate the view. And he knew, for a fact, that the image before him was only enhanced by the island he was on. How different it was to perceive the open waters without crowded harbours and the deafening noise of sailors and civilians. James had to be grateful for this opportunity while he had the chance.

'We need a signal,' Teuta declared, finally breaking the silence which had hung between them. Of course they did, but as far as the eye could see the beach was devoid of any driftwood.

'We have nothing to start a fire.'

Teuta passed James a scrutinising look, before her familiar coy smirk tweaked at her lips. 'Who say we need fire?' She knew full well that she had puzzled him by the disconcerted expression on his face. 'Watch.' Teuta turned her back on the Admiral, so she was know facing the expanse of water before her. She began to speak once more in a tongue he could barely hear and certainly not understand; only then did it dawn on him that she was casting some form of spell. _That does not sound as far fetched as it probably should. _

The pace of the tide increased, moving from a gentle sway to a violent pulse. The clear sky had now darkened to charcoal. A wind had begun to snap and pull at James' clothes and hair with angry fingers. This was dangerous weather for any ship. Teuta approached James, backing away from the waters until she was stood beside him. The beads and shells in her hair were rattling together like a disorganised orchestra.

'Dey 'ave nah choice but t' come into de shallows,' she said, raising her voice over the tempest she had conducted.

'And what then?' James then asked, his voice dark and mournful. He couldn't hide his emotions anymore, as he had done so often around others. There was no reason to when he spoke to Teuta; she would always discern his feelings either way.

'I calm de sea an' ye board de ship.'

'You cannot allow me to leave you,' he suddenly exclaimed. He clutched her shoulders, stroking her smooth skin with the pads of his thumbs. 'I cannot lose yet another person who I hold dear. Too many times have I lost to Fate and Destiny. I am weary of being alone. Please...Return with me to Port Royale.'

Her skin tingled at the conviction in his voice and the desperation in his eyes, but nonetheless Teuta shook her head determinedly, albeit forlornly. 'Ye say yerself dat _we_ cannot be in Port Royale.'

'What I _said_ can go hang!' James swallowed hard, collecting his thoughts before he got ahead of himself. 'I thought I had prepared myself for this morning; I had mused over the current situation multiple times and every time the outcome was the same – I returned to Port Royale without a second thought of this island...without a second thought of you. However, now the moment has come I have realised that I could never stay away and, more so, that I would miss you desperately.'

On the edge of the horizon the black shadow of a ship had appeared, growing in size and clarity the closer it came to the beach. Teuta's eyes reflected the colour of the sky with a watery sheen. She would not cry, lest she cause the storm to double its efforts. She had to remain composed. 'Den de two of us mus' share de same pain.

James could think of nothing more to say - in fact he was having difficulty thinking coherently at all. She would not, could not, leave and refused to force her against her will. Norrington looked beyond the woman in his arms to the ship that was now securely anchored off the coast. He began to feel lightheaded; maybe the salty air was making him drowsy. Teuta's hand was stroking his cheek but it hardly registered. James looked down at her but her beautiful features had become blurred. The ground felt as if it were falling away from underneath him.

'Forgive me…' her voice whispered, but the rest of the sentence was inaudible. James had to close his eyes after that.

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><p><em><strong>AN: **I think this little snippet I found from the fourth Percy Jackson novel is rather apt for the end of this chapter: "'They send a person who can never stay,' she whispered. 'Who can never accept my offer of companionship for more than a little while. They send me a hero I can't help ... just the sort of person I can't help falling in love with.'"_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Disclaimer:**__ Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

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><p><em>James became very aware of a rough hand slapping the side of his face to bring him round. A number of men were peering over him, their skin leathery and their hair scruffy. They had the typical looks of hardy sailors, accustomed to long trips and life in open waters. Beyond the faces a white sail was flapping against the mast, as grey rain clouds began to part overhead. His water logged clothes clung to him, weighing him down on the hard wooden deck.<em>

_'What…?' Norrington shivered and spluttered, forcing himself up to cough up the salt water. One of the sailors gave him a heavy pat on the back, which made him wince more than doing him any good. Before he spoke again, Norrington took a moment to view his surroundings; a sturdy cargo ship, probably working under the EITC and manned by about twenty men. 'Where are we heading?' he questioned, turning to the nearest crewman, a broad shouldered man, with sun bleached hair and crooked teeth._

_'Port Royal,' the man replied. 'We got a shipment of spices to deliver.'_

_'Port Royal…' James muttered clambering to his feet and hurrying over to the starboard side of the ship. He clutched at the wooden rail – although his cold fingers struggled to find their grip - as his eyes scanned for any sign of land. A small shadow on the horizon vaguely represented an island. The deck behind him creaked as the same man approached._

_'Is somethin' the matter?'_

_'Was there…' James did not want to sound delusional but he needed to know. There was someone else with him just before...'Was there a woman with me?' Norrington couldn't quite remember her name, but he could see her face as clear as if he had been stood beside her only minutes ago. 'A young, native woman with long dreadlocks?' Confused, the sailor shook his head._

_'Nah, just you, floating adrift off the coast.'_

__x

James Norrington stood in Governor Swann's old office swirling his scotch around in its glass. The balcony doors were fully open, allowing the light of the half moon to creep across the carpet and mingle with the light from the lit fire on the other side of the room. He took a sip of his drink, revelling in the pleasant burn that passed down his throat into the pit of his stomach. It was beautiful at this time of night; when the sun had just set and the faint reddish glow was still just visible on the horizon.

It had been just over seven months since he was found off the coast of Cuba by a cargo ship and he still remembered it as clear as day. He had been so confused, cold and tired, muttering about a woman who apparently did not exist. However, even know he found her intruding his memories during the day and night. Norrington could not think of her name and even though the sailors had tried to convince him that she did not exist he would not hear of it. She _had _existed. He had come to refer to her as 'the girl by the river', as in many of his dreams she had been sitting on the banks of a river, with the skirts of her dress floating on current and her head inclined to gaze at him. _A wave of tumbling dreadlocks, revealing the smooth arch of a right shoulder and neck; brown, glowing skin, so close he could almost touch it. She was beautiful._

James swallowed the dregs of the alcohol which remained in his glass. Since he had returned to Port Royal he had begun drinking again. Norrington pinned it on the stress of things, rather than using drink to drown his sorrows as he had done in Tortuga. Those days were long gone, as were his dealings with pirates. Jones was dead, with William Turner taking his place. Elizabeth was living a solitary life waiting for her husband to return and Sparrow – blasted Jack Sparrow – was gallivanting off on the other side of the world to pursue another adventure. That had given Norrington some relief when he stepped on to the dock at Port Royal.

During the week he had returned it had taken very little persistence to end the rumours of his death. People could not argue that James had been murdered aboard the Dutchman when he was there for all to see. James ran a hand thoughtfully over his abdomen where the remnant of his scar was still present. It did not pain him anymore, but reminded him of a back room full of candles and a warm, soft hand pressed to it.

The scotch bottle was already a third empty – James swore he hadn't poured that much from it already. Of course, having been the highest ranking officer in Port Royal after his sudden return, James had quickly been put in charge of the colony. Swann and Beckett were dead, each killed at the hands of those who they believed they could trust. Norrington was in effect a stand in until the King found someone else fitting enough to take up the position of Governor. James had thought himself unfit, considering his poor choices on previous occasions, but as if yet Port Royal had not fallen into complete disarray. _Maybe I'm not doing as terribly as I perceive. _Someone had once told him that he was the only one who could do it. Perhaps they had been right.

x

_The silence in the fort could have been cut with a knife. The servants, the sailors, even the high ranking officers were thrown into bewilderment when the supposedly dead Admiral Norrington had entered the main courtyard. He looked a state; his hair was bedraggled, his uniform tarnished and his tri-corn hat was no where in sight. Everything appeared to be as he had left it, although there were a few less officers thanks to Beckett's war against the pirates. Many of the armada would still be making their way home to Port Royal._

_A nervous young sailor ran over with orders from the Lieutenant-Commander that Norrington was to meet him in the Governor's office immediately. Norrington followed the boy along the hallways, trying to manage as much decorum as possible in his current state of dress. They reached the familiar glass double doors which marked the threshold of the office and the two officers standing on either side of them pushed the doors open. The men spied Norrington curiously as he walked past them._

_James recognised the man behind the desk. He had been a determined man, much like Norrington, with ambitions of climbing up the ranks of the Navy until he could finally call himself Admiral. He had clearly got his foot through the door exceptionally quickly._ _Got ahead of himself more like._

_'James Norrington, I believe?' he rose from his seat behind the carved oak desk. Norrington narrowed his eyes and passed the Lieutenant-Commander a vicious glare. He had never been proud of his most recent title, but now he felt he deserved to employ it._

_'That would be Admiral Norrington to you,' he retorted, 'or have you forgotten your station?'_

__x

James strolled out on to the balcony, his glass refilled. The fresh, Caribbean breeze stroked his cheeks and jaw, toyed with the gold tassels of his epaulettes and tugged at his tie. The wind reminded him of the girl by the river; James had often woken from dreams in which he had been involved in libidinous activities with her. In his dreams she was sometimes distant, merely a hallucination, and on other occasions she was practically tangible. But he knew, right in the recesses of his mind, that she was more than a dream. She was a memory, she had been in his life, but for reasons which he could not extract he had been parted from her. Something had manifested between them and something had torn them apart.

The Admiral had realised instantaneously that his mind no longer wandered to sour memories of Elizabeth Turner and that in his dreams he was not fabricating a future they might have had. The only woman he could think of had skin the shade of cocoa and thick, twisted hair. _It was softer than I had expected. _It frustrated James that he could not remember his encounter with the woman completely. Between his death at the hands of Jones – that had definitely happened – and his return to Port Royal she had done something to him.

The sea tonight was livelier than usual. Perhaps a storm was headed towards Port Royal; nothing too serious judging by the size of the waves. James had discovered a small pleasure in watching the sea, especially when there was no one else to disturb him. It was his reason for often staying in his office long after sunset. And, although he sometimes would not admit it to himself, he hoped the girl by the river might suddenly become flesh out on the beach.

His glass was empty again.

The Admiral returned to his desk, shutting the balcony doors behind him on his way. He set the crystal-cut glass down, pushing it away from him along with the bottle. _Enough for tonight._ It was a good thing James had put the glass down. He turned, intent on extinguishing the fire, only to find the door to his office ajar and a figure standing just across the room from him. He should have shouted or drawn his pistol, but his voice would not come and his hand did not move.

The dark skin glowed with a deep, orange in the light of the fire. The chin was small, the cheekbones prominent. The nose, rounded yet narrow. Dark eyes were fringed with darker lashes and encircled with a thick application of Kohl. The dress was clutching at the body, soaked through with water. The shoulder length dreadlocks hung heavy about the face, dripping sea water on to the rug. The figure trembled violently from the cold.

Then, the native tongue spoke, in an almost seductive manner, 'Admiral James Norrington.'


	13. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer:** Disney owns all, except my original characters. Title inspired by Biffy Clyro - 'Bubbles'._

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><p>James checked that the level of alcohol in the bottle had depleted any further since he put the glass down. <em>Still the same as before.<em> With his lips slightly parted, Norrington returned his gaze to the woman. He was either dreaming or she was genuinely stood before him. She had not spoken again and James was hesitant; he had no idea what his first words should be. Having kept eye contact in a tense silence for the past few seconds, James finally concluded that he should initiate the conversation.

'Please, madam, tell me simply, are you real or a manifestation of my intoxicated mind?' He desperately wanted her to be the former.

She took a small step closer, recognising how James flinched backwards. 'I am real, James,' she said, her voice carrying a hurt undertone. Again her body shivered from the watery chill and she wrapped her arms about herself. The Admiral appeared to be put at ease by her confession. He suddenly realised his manners had escaped him.

'You will catch your death if you stay in those wet clothes.' He had nothing to offer her as a substitute except his coat nor was there a place for her to change privately. He had seen her naked before though and not just in his dreams; he remembered waking up beside her in a bed which was not his own. This time it felt uncouth to watch her undress. Norrington removed his Admiral's coat and handed it to her. 'Here, put this on. You have my word that I will not look.'

'T'ank you,' she said, relieving him of the garment. James turned his back on her, focusing his attention on the papers which were laid across his desk; tedious requisitions and execution orders he needed to sign. He could hear the friction of fabric against fabric as she unlaced her dress behind him, followed by a muted thump as the water-logged material pooled on the floor. Even without looking James could remember her body; it was so very tempting to catch a glimpse. _That would make you a cad._ 'Ye can look now.' His coat had kept her modesty intact and she had laid her dress out on the floor near the fire.

'Please, sit.' He motioned towards the arm chairs that were angled towards the fire.

A curious smile came to her face, but she sat down all the same. She made sure the coat was still drawn across her breasts and crossed her legs. James passed a fleeting glance over the smooth, brown limbs. 'Ye d' not 'ave t' be so prop-ah,' she assured him as he took up the space opposite her. Norrington appeared lost in his own thoughts. He was. There were questions that needed to be answered, but how could he ask them without conducting himself inappropriately?

'Madam, memories of you have plagued me for the past seven months,' he began cautiously, focusing on her eyes. They were practically glowing in the light of the flames, deep shades of red in a black abyss. 'Yet all my recollections where you are involved are broken up, as if someone has removed pieces of a jigsaw.'

She cocked her head, causing her dreadlocks to sway in the same direction. Her collar bones were highlighted by shadows. Her fingers were tracing the embroidery on the arm of the chair. Her digits moved carefully. _As they had done the first time she stroked your hand. _James quickly shook the thought from his mind.

'What d' ye remember?'

'A shack by a river, where you lived alone,' Norrington recalled, imagining all in his mind's eye. 'You saved me from the hands of death and cared for me until I was completely healed. It was you who brought about my salvation, internally and physically.' He furrowed his brow and clenched his eyes shut, as he yet again he hit the mental wall that hid everything else from him. It was infuriating. When he finally looked at the woman again her eyes had turned watery.

'Nuttin' more? Not even my name?' She suppressed the emotion which had caused her throat to constrict. James shook his head forlornly. _I want to remember. _

'Who were you – are you to me?'

The young woman let out a heavy sigh. 'I should not 'ave come,' she murmured, staring at the dancing flames. Her eyes no longer reflected the fire; her pupils had turned grey and cloudy. 'I t'ought ye would remember me.' She moved to rise from her seat, but his sudden interjection paused her movements.

'I want to remember. I need to know what happened between us.' He was leaning forward in his seat now, desperately hoping that she would not abandon him. 'Something _did_ happen, I am certain of that fact.' Silence hung between them, with the exception of their paced breathing. The woman sucked in her bottom lip to lick it, as she prepared to speak.

'Der was a time when ye wanted nuttin' more dan t' link yer fingers wid mine.' She rolled her lips together again, speaking warily. _Her hand fit perfectly into mine, as I had hoped._ 'An' de time ye argued wid me, ye follow me t' apologize.' She continued with a questioning tone, perhaps waiting for a response from him. James found himself nodding in agreement, although he was not entirely sure why. She was obviously being careful with him; there would be no use in bombarding him with information. 'Ye care enough t' ask 'ow I feel when I was upset. An' wen ye kiss me…'

James suddenly rose from his seat. Not in anger. Not in surprise. In frustration that how ever familiar all of this felt he still felt as though he was merely a spectator to someone else's story. He was never the man who was lucky in love. Never. Why should now be any different with this woman? He could not even remember her name for goodness sake. Then, as though the wall in his mind had begun to crumble an encounter with her came to mind. _'My name?' The woman started twirling the cord of one of her necklaces about her finger, eyeing him up under the curtain of her lashes. She had a teasing look, like a child who was trying to keep a secret although they knew it would eventually burst out. 'I am known as…'_

'Teuta,' Norrington breathed. He spun on his heel, to discover the young woman gazing with features as surprised as his. 'Teuta,' he repeated with more conviction. James crouched down in front of her, his hands moving up to cup her jaw. Finally, a smile came to his face, one which lit up his green eyes. 'My _gracious_ Teuta.' The young woman laughed quietly, in joy and relief, before leaning down to catch his lips with hers. James eagerly pulled her from the chair and the pair stumbled to the floor.

Bit by bit they reacquainted themselves with the lines and curves of the other's body, until they were both naked before the fire. The lost pieces had finally been fixed in place. As James gazed up the woman who was straddling his lap he could not comprehend how his luck had changed. Maybe Destiny finally saw fit to grant him some courtesy in life.

'What is it?' Teuta asked, realising Norrington was staring at her.

'Nothing,' he smirked, wrapping his arms tighter about her. He loved the feel of her skin under his touch; she was just so warm. James kissed her forcefully. 'Marry me,' he whispered unexpectedly as they broke apart. Teuta's tender mouth was agape, but her eyes were sparkling with excitement. James' face proved he was not mocking her.

'Marry you?' she questioned in surprise.

The Admiral kissed her again, his right hand moving up to the back of her neck. 'I understand this is not conventional' –_nothing has been conventional since I met her_ – 'but I cannot risk losing you again. Hang what I said all those months ago.' Teuta found his conviction endearing, but there were still flaws in his plan. She stroked a hand through a ruffled, and now short, natural hair.

'Ye said so yerself, dat we 'ave no place in society,' she reminded him. 'An' ye need t' stay 'ere.'

His left hand stroked its way down her spine to small of her back, causing Teuta to arch against him. 'I would gladly give this life up. It has given me little more than grief, heartache and stress over the past years.' He thought for a moment on the other issue, while his right fingers teased the nape of her neck. 'We could move away from Port Royal. There is nothing – _no one_ – left for me here. I understand you as free-willed as the sea but…please, Teuta, marry me.'

The seconds of quiet passed, with Teuta staring down at James with a deliberating gaze. The beam which came to her face set the Admiral's mind at ease. She gave him a minute nod in response, wrapping her arms about his neck. Her lips brushed against his. 'Yes,' she said almost inaudibly. Norrington's heart sang; he could not prevent himself from kissing her repeatedly. He quickly shifted her on his lap, with Teuta clutching at his back when she felt him inside her.

'I love you,' he said quietly, albeit virtuously. She was not just the girl by the river, she was his.

x

A frantic sailor ran up to the new governor of Port Royal as he made his way of the ship that had just transported him and his family from England. The governor was a stout man, with a figure that suggested he had enjoyed his food too much in his younger years but his face was kind all the same. The young lad approached him with red cheeks and heavy breath, but stood to attention all the same.

'I suppose you are the one who is supposed to introduce me to Admiral Norrington,' the older man asked, looking the boy up and down. Just behind him, a middle aged woman and a teenage boy and girl began making their way down the gangplank to the dock.

The sailor shook his head with a look a worry. 'That's what I was sent here to tell you, sir,' he began, praying that he would not be punished unjustly for the message he was about to deliver. 'Admiral Norrington resigned two days ago with no word of where he was heading.'

'Resigned?' The governor exclaimed, in genuine surprise rather than anger. 'What on earth for?'

'No one really knows, sir,' the sailor replied. 'But as far as anyone knows is that he left Port Royal with a young woman on his arm. A native woman, sir, with thick, black hair and eyes the colour of stormy waters.'

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><p><em>Thank you to all those who read it to the end! Your patience with me should be commended!<em>


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